


Biocomputer. Volume 1: Becoming

by Rishech



Series: Biocomuter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fantasy, Gen, Magical Realism, Original Character(s), Out of Character, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-09-19 03:09:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 22,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20324095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rishech/pseuds/Rishech
Summary: Androids, shuttles, AI... Common things in the twenty second century. Sadly, humanity couldn't defeat death, and so a young student dies in a disaster, only to find himself in a magical world. Once he realised what is happening, he set himself on a single goal: to uncover all the secrets of magic. Will he succeed where the others have failed for centuries?





	1. Arc 1: New World. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Биокомпьютер. Том 1: Становление](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/510142) by Ещё_по_50. 

_The value of life is not in the length of days, but in the use we make of them._

_Michel de Montaigne_

**London**

“Simulation? Considering what happened before – unlikely. Then…”

Maxim in great shock brought his skinny hands to his face, phasing out of reality. It was so hard to believe it looks like this now! Imprinted in his memory were an explosion of the shuttle, screeching siren, chaos, and then – darkness. There was no way death could mercifully give him a delay.

“A black hole?.. Spontaneous formation beyond the boundaries of reason, and the collision had surely resulted in the demise of the entire crew. How?!”

Right now Maxim Frolov was feeling rather unusual – as if awakened after several days of sleep. Five minutes prior he, a man from the twenty second century, had found himself in the body of a child. The surroundings, sadly, did not inspire much optimism.

Maxim had never believed in reincarnation in other worlds; now, however, he had to reconsider many things. There was no panic. Unlike his peers, young bioengineering student preferred calmly analysing the situation, keeping the mind and blood cold. This often helped him solve day-to-day problems and avoid many conflicts with other people. He did not observe in himself any care for the loss of contact with them. Family, friends, girlfriend… He consciously exchanged them for the studies and improvement. His personal life was amazingly horrible.

This current state was very similar to the simulations, in which the lives of the people from different periods of the history were shown. No androids, no spaceships, no AI, serving as the main assistant in everyday life.

Small, worn out bed. Medium sized wooden wardrobe, standing next to the empty wall. Dirty bedsheets have perfectly fitted the entourage. The clothes were not an eye candy either: thin red shirt and ripped jeans. Overall, disgusting situation.

“Maybe I’m stuck in another time period?”

Maxim stood from his bed and slowly neared the long mirror, situated near the wardrobe. Black hair, thin face, sunken cheeks, and greenish eyes. Body was almost skeleton levels of thin, the previous owner was clearly not eating enough.

“Maybe I’m in an orphanage, or in a dysfunctional family. Either way, the situation is rather shitty.”

As the memories of the previous “owner” flooded him, he found proof for the orphanage hypothesis.

Michael Valter. Despised by everyone inhabitant of the London orphanage (these things still worked here!), ten years of age, no bright positive qualities. As a consequence, angered at other children and self-centered. Typical outcast. Favorite pastime – laying and thinking about worthlessness of everybody else and his own greatness (Max, however, failed to comprehend what was this greatness all about).

Orphanage aside, the world was almost identical to his own in the end of the 20th century (judging by the memory, now was the year 1990). World organization, money, languages, faith, even city names – everything was the same. There are hints that some historical events were different, but Michael’s memory did not contain enough information to form any solid conclusions.

Maxim heard pleasant female voice in his head and almost jumped in surprise.

**Initializing…**

**Basic protocol RTX-45 is activated.**

**Access level: absolute.**

It was at this moment he felt a sharp dryness in his throat.

“Sky?”

**I’m listening.**

“How? You are…”

**I do not have any precise information myself. System powering is conducted in a peculiar manner; it has nothing to do with energy in my usual understanding.**

The student clenched his teeth and started walking around the room, anxiously. His former calmness disappeared without a trace, replaced by the nervousness and adrenalin.

“Can you somehow describe how is the CPU powered? What is it like?”

**Analysis…**

**Searching the archives…**

**Similar terms found: “aura”, “soul”.**

“The archives?”, - this unexpected discovery sent the blood rushing through his veins. - “Are they intact? Unharmed?”

**All folders and their contents are completely intact and are awaiting your commands.**

“Marvelous!”, - Max couldn’t hold the joyous exclamation, yet immediately restrained himself. He did not want to attract attention, even in this desolate orphanage. Who knows what may happen…

The people, according to the memories, are not all too jumpy, but all of Valter’s actions have received a negative response. In all honesty, they were mostly different sorts of pranks, so such reaction was to be expected. Maxim didn’t have in plans to fix any relationships of his predecessor. He simply didn’t see any reason for it.

His archives contained most of the blueprints for the twenty second century tech, it would be a cakewalk to become a genius in the eyes of everyone. But is that worth it? And what is the point of doing so? Improve the living conditions of these people? Lead world to prosperity? Usurp the power? He saw no personal gain; he never had any interest for power the praise of the people.

“Sky, this body’s memories seem intact. Do you think it is somehow relevant to our current state?”

**Not enough data. Can’t answer the question.**

“You have mentioned aura and soul. After my death I came into this world, and that means… That soul does exist, since this is some semblance of the afterlife. Do you want to say that your processor runs thanks to it?” – Mex froze, thinking about this logical chain. – “This might be some form of merging! I don’t see any other explanation for a mounted chip to be transferred as an immaterial entity. Probably such deep connection with my consciousness created this effect. Sky, do you feel any changes to the program?”

**Negative.**

**For more detailed answer general diagnostics of the processor is required.**

He calmed down and sat on his bed.

“Fine, do the diagnostics. Not now though, at night. Right now I want you to check this new body for internal and external injuries”, - Max’s priorities were, as always, straight.

**Executing…**

**Approximate time until completion: 30 minutes.**

**Process initiated.**

This original reincarnation was of not much use, but that was just at first look. The main issue was his position in the society. On the other hand, it was not that big of a problem to fix, considering his patience. First things on his “to-do” list were to somehow earn money and get familiar with the current laws and history.

He considered his emotional control to be almost perfect, but there were clear reasons for his recent “outburst”. Maxim was quick to realize how lucky he was. Indeed, sometimes death is the best reward! In his last life he would become a lab worker, albeit a talented one. He maybe could move up the career ladder, in twenty years or so. Just a bundle of joy. Oh, well.

It mattered not now. New world – new possibilities, alongside new problems. There might be some supernatural content to this world, there was no other reason to explain the fusion of technology and his very soul.

“Perfect.”

More than anything, he loved learning new things, reaching for the unknown. And if a soul exists (which is more or less a fact at this point), than magic must too! Just like the VRMMORPG games, but in reality!

Max was not known for his optimism, but everything told him that his formerly gray life was about to become way more colorful. Is that not a reason to be happy?

“Only have to watch out not to get in trouble in the process…”


	2. Part 1: White Rose

_Yesterday evening has occurred yet another attack of the terrorist group known as the “Death Eaters”. Their target was the Britain’s main magical street – “Diagon Alley”. According to the official sources, 36 people were killed, and 25 injured, of which 14 are still in the reanimation wing of the St. Mungo’s hospital. List of all the deceased and injured can be found on page 27…_

_“…Criminals, just like last time, have used an army of the lower undead, split into several smaller groups,” – states second Deputy Head of the Aurors’ department, James Potter. - “There is possibility that the undead were controlled by Riddle himself. If you ask my opinion, this is very likely: not only does one need to be a master of controlling the nekr, but also to posses a colossal amount of kreylints.”_

_As for the questions about the security measures, auror could only shrug with uncertainty, warning the people about a mysterious artefact._

_“As far as we know, it allows to ignore even the strongest alarm charms. We do not have any particular information about the artefact, aside from the fact that some of our foreign colleagues use something similar.”_

_“So you say that it is possible that mister Riddle was a foreign project?” – asks our journalist, Rita Skeeter. – “What country is the primary danger for the Magical Britain?_

_“Your assumption seems very unlikely; mister Riddle is not a “foreign project”. My apologies, I have to go,” - answered James Potter and hurried away from the cameras…_

* * *

_Note: buy the newly published special edition of the “Fall into Darkness”, biography of the youngest Minister of Magic in British history and Europe’s most dangerous Dark Lord in the last 30 years._

* * *

** _Fragments of the “Daily Prophet”, issue 57592. Dated: 12.09.1979._ **

** **

**Sometime later**

Half an hour passed in the blink of an eye. Instead of anxious waiting, Max preferred to relax, close his eyes and try and accept one simple truth: this wasn’t a sick fantasy! Reality.

Psyche is a delicate thing. Sometimes its level of adaptability solely determines its owners fate. Not many can retain rational thinking after dying and being reborn in a parallel world. Practically, a different dimension. He was truly proud of himself. Not to start panicking, especially after an adrenaline surge, is not so easy. It is even more difficult to simply spend thirty minutes calmly rethinking all the events and abandon useless ideas.

“Reincarnation…”

**Scan complete.**

**No vital threats found.**

**Eleven minor injuries detected.**

**Attention!**

**Hypovitaminosis detected.**

“Shit…” – desire to smash the wall with his small fist was quickly subdued with cold reason. – “Sky, how bad is it?”

**Analysis…**

**Protein starvation.**

“Understood. Oki, I will think about solving this issue tomorrow, now is the time to sleep. Conduct the diagnostics, no alarm, I will be woken up anyway.”

**As you command.**

**Goodnight.**

He was rather sleepy indeed. Reason… Maybe transferring to another body took too much strength. Outside his small window, a small yard was drowning in the dusk. Memory hinted – evening.

Falling asleep, Max remembered about Sky, that, apparently, has firmly become his inseparable part from now on. To be honest, he did think of her as of an extra arm even before.

“Interesting… Am I even human at this point?”

Max often asked himself: how are humans better than androids? Unpredictability of actions, or maybe freedom of thought, unaffected by the algorithms? Their deeds? Not true, he knew that better than anyone, in this world for sure.

“Just the presence of living tissues.”

**Morning**

**General diagnostics concluded.**

**Results: **

**Logical approach, goal determining, and symbolical modelling of the thought processes are unchanged.**

“Bravissimo,” – answered Max, sleepily. Just a second later he jumped off the bed because of a loud knocking in his door.

The room entered a grey-haired woman.

“Get up, Michael! Hurry up!”

“Ok, Mrs White,” – he replied, supressing the yawn. Putting on the “rags” did not take him more than a minute, making the bed, however, proved to be more of a challenge.

Orphanage “White Rose” could not brag about huge financial support. The reason was its location: one of the criminal regions of London. Max heard that there were places in America that even the police feared to enter. The situation here was way better, but the number of killings, overdoses of drugs, and simple thefts was a bit overwhelming. Kids, however, were free to walk alone. Why? Because no one cared about them. Such is the reality, that breaks the pink glasses before they are even formed.

After waiting a bit for his turn, Max has washed his face (as well as pitiful bathroom allowed) and went down to the dining room. Around the perimeter of the big hall were situated kids of all ages. The noise was louder than in the pubs on Friday nights. Everybody was eating some grey goo, that was supposed to pretend it is food.

“Well…”

While everybody was quickly eating, Frolov carefully examined his surroundings. In reality, he was one of the very few children with the vitamin deficiency. Even at such a young age, kids usually form bands and manage to adapt to any conditions. Some even looked a bit chubby, what lead to simple conclusions.

“Sky, scan the surroundings for any unknown energies.”

**Executing…**

**Scanning…**

**Scanning complete.**

**Matches found: 0.**

“Shame.”

**Attention!**

**Unknown anomaly detected.**

**Unknown type of energy is capable of altering the organism, yet because of the staleness of the particles this does not happen.**

Max almost chocked on his breakfast. He should have put the spoon aside and thoughtfully talk with his “personal schizophrenia”, luckily, people were used to peculiar behaviour of the original.

“How does this anomaly function? Can you identify where exactly you are located?”

**Negative. Not enough data.**

**Anomalous particle location: blood vessels.**

“in the blood, huh? Can you somehow affect them, since you know where they are? If they are the ones that power you…”

**Positive.**

**Last statement is arguable. Processor functions thanks to the presence of an unknown formation. It does, however, have a connection with the anomalous particles.**

“Let’s speculate it’s a soul. You can’t feel the material structure of it, now can you?”

**Negative.**

“Is the energy in some sort of stasis?”

**Positive.**

**Warning! **

**The consequences of its activation are unpredictable.**

**Recommending…**

“No. We… We’ll activate it. No idea how, but since it’s linked to the body… I suppose we should gather it in one place, without affecting the structural integrity? Sky, can you do that?”

**Analysis…**

**Probability of a positive outcome: 74.12%.**

**Warning! Reaction is irreversible.**

**Body’s very structure will most likely undergo critical changes.**

“We should try, there really isn’t much else to do.”

Usually Max wouldn’t risk without a clear reason. Caution is key to success, and bravery should be carefully managed, else it will become similar to stupidity.

Now and here, however… What are the odds of him somehow earning a living here? Even if he does miraculously earn the money, how can he protect himself from scam or just a knife into the stomach? He has no benefactors here, there is no one to protect him.

Stealing? With his physical condition he can only dream about that. He probably isn’t even capable of overpowering a little girl at this point. Yet where the strength fails, the mind prevails. This experiment with his own body is risky, but if…

As a child, Max loved reading fantasy, and so he had some vague guesses about the nature of these particles. An objective link with the soul. Supernatural. He did look eerily familiar to the character from a children’s movie, that told story about bravery, nobility, love, and other emotional crap.

As he finished his breakfast, he quietly left for his room.

“And now…”

He stood by the mirror and ordered AI to show some episodes from the movies. Then he examined the portrait of the main character of the third remake, as well as the original movies and illustrations from the book.

“Sky.”

**I’m listening.**

“It would seem that these particles are nothing short of magic. Wonderful, ain’t it?”

…

Speculations. Of course, it is outright stupid to base his thinking on an imaginary universe, and yet, with so many matches regarding age and the time period…

The door was rapidly opened, revealing worried Mrs White.

“Has something happened?” – Max asked, imitating children’s curiosity.

“Everybody is to gather in the main hall. Hurry up, I won’t say twice!”

While still deep in his thoughts, he left the room, after a quick nod to the caretaker.

Even if she was surprised by such obedience from a problematic child, she did not show that, and he did not care.

In order to avoid too much attention, Max hid behind a tall teen. The main hall was very different form the rooms or the dining hall. Freshly painted peach walls looked very elegant with new parquet and fluffy carpets. Great abundance, by the local standards.

In the centre stood the headmistress, and by her side – a chubby man in the police uniform. He was writing something, and the orphans were expecting the worst.

“Attention, children! There has been an emergency!” – the headmistress told them.

Max has noticed one more key figure in the unfolding action: a black-haired girl in leather jacket and jeans. Her eyes, red from the tears, have hinted that there has been a street accident. Probably.

“…Justin Smith and Derrell Corner are… dead,” – woman said, with sadness in her voice.

He paid little attention to the mumbling that followed the grim news; instead he studied the girl that, according to the memory, went for a walk with the freshly dead kids yesterday evening.

Andrea Bateman. Unlike Valter, she had crystal-clear record and was beloved by almost everybody. At least, as far as adults go. Kids were either fascinated, or afraid, or hateful; yet everyone was united by a single wish – to stay as far away from her as possible. Well, almost everybody.

“Sky, scan the people in this hall for magic, will you?”

**Executing…**

**Scanning…**

**Scanning complete.**

**Matches found: 1.**

Max was not surprised a single bit to see an image of a black-haired girl in his mind.

Her sorrowful mask disappeared for a fraction of a second when the headmistress spoke about the deaths, revealing a predatory grin.

* * *

Maxim Frolov/Michael Valter: <https://pm1.narvii.com/6832/55d0969b75366e2fe823601f03750dd0256a8726v2_hq.jpg>

Andrea Bateman: <https://img1.goodfon.com/original/1920x1200/a/1a/art-anime-devochka-kamisama-no.jpg>


	3. Part 2: Proper Wizard

_“James, this is the only option!” – overwhelmed by emotions, the woman was almost shouting. – “Have you forgotten that no blood-based defence will work with a squib? You are a pureblood, for Merlin’s sake, why am I the one who needs to explain these things?”_

_“My son won’t live in another family,” – he answered, voice hard and cold. – “You have said it yourself, Petunia despises magic. Dear, please, I beg you… Calm down and try using your brain. Many things will become much clearer.”_

_Lily Potter angrily threw a towel at her husband._

_“Clown. These are the stories of days long gone; Alex is as good as muggle. Have you not learned the theory? Don’t you remember the effects of magical field, especially on children? Our son will grow in normal conditions, Petunia will tell him the truth, and he will choose his world…”_

_“Absurd… There must be another way, there must. It is almost impossible to have him grow here, but… but…”_

_Lily could do nothing but remain silent. There was no point in explaining the obvious. They were still unable to give one of the twins away, into the muggle world. Couldn’t bring themselves to part with a boy they loved, who was part of their family, despite his defect. Sadly, almost all squibs had to grow in muggle world; magical particles tore unprotected infants from inside, interfering with normal development. _

_“Lily, we… We will take Alex back once he grows up, won’t we?”_

_“Do you think I want to do that to him?”_

_“Well, Albus…”_

_“Dumbledore and his “experimental defence” can go kiss dementors! I won’t risk my child’s health and life! Imagine how hard it would be for him to live here. It wouldn’t be something that true parental love can fix.”_

_Potter stood from his chair and poured some tea._

_“I’m so tired. War, war, war… Ashes and corpses. Death around every corner. What if the Death Eaters find him? How will we live after that?” – James looked at his wife with searing pain in his eyes. She approached and locked her arms around him. Sometimes words were truly superfluous. _

_“We will handle this, together,” – Lily rested her head on his shoulder. – “Our son will grow up surrounded by love and care. I talked with Petunia, she is ready to raise him, and the old man will ensure they are not found.”_

_“All right. We will give him away, but once he is old enough, he will be back in the family.”_

_Suddenly, a baby’s cry cut the night. Worried parents walked into the nursery, where the two boys rested. Harry and Alex Potter. They were like two drops of water, yet one of them was a wizard, while other was far less lucky. Lily took the child from his cradle and started singing quietly._

_“Forgive us…” – James whispered as he left the room, silently closing the door behind him._

_What can be more difficult than betraying the ones closest to you, even if this betrayal was not his choice? Maybe looking them in the eyes after that. _

_“One day, I will see the well-earned disappointment. I just hope the war will be over soon.”_

** _1981, Godric’s Hollow_ **

**Sometime later**

Max absently examined the lightbulb on his ceiling, thinking about what has just occurred. Rational thinking was smoking in the corner, replaced by the preyish feeling. Meaningless. Merciless. The death of two kids from a venomous snake’s bite might not seem all that weird at first glance, all manners of stuff can happen in life. No adult will even think about Bateman’s guilt. This psycho was known for her amazing theatrics (a little worm of jealousy swirled in him). She wasn’t stupid wither; she was two grades ahead of her age.

“What was the name for the language of snakes in the books? Parseltongue?”

He honestly shouldn’t care, there was no need to interfere with other people’s squabbles. Justice? He would gladly let others fight the evil, he would much rather strike a deal or avoid it altogether.

Andrea was clearly a wizard with awakened particles. If he was to find any information on the wizarding world, it would make sense to share the knowledge and recruit the “friend in need”.

“Even if I do find “The Leaky Cauldron”, what will that change? No money, no acquaintances. Go to the Ministry and ask them to help the poor orphan? A credit? Yeah, sure. This could work if this was a fairy tale. Considering the yangire next door, it is highly unlikely, or the Hogwarts will drown in blood.”

In would appear that the story he knew just waved its hand and left to a faraway land. This could still be some sort of its distorted version. Nah, fat chance. Probably just a similar concept.

“Clinging to empty dreams and visions is outright stupid.”

As of right now, Maxim had a choice to make: activation or a life of swimming against the currents. The first option bore many risks, yet the reward was more than handsome. Probably.

“To hell with this. I have tried the second option last time, time to change something up.”

He took off his clothes, stood in the centre of the room and put all the useful thing he found nearby. A stick, some iodine, water, bandages. He thought about doing it outside, but here he would be safe from accidental witnesses. People didn’t enter Valter’s room without a reason.

“Sky, initiate the procedure”

**Analysis…**

**Preparing…**

**Procedure initiated.**

It was quiet for two minutes or so and then… Max was quick enough to stiff his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. There was no reason to let others hear his screams. The pain was infernal; he had never felt anything like this before. Luckily, it didn’t last long, else he would probably lose his consciousness.

Max concentrated on the wooden chair and waved his hand, lifting it into the air. He observed this violation of the fundamental laws of physics for ten seconds or so, before releasing the chair to fall onto the floor.

“Magic! Goddamn magic at my fingertips!”

The chances of a successful activation were high, yet even now he felt a hat stinging in his chest. These particles could tear his blood vessels to bits. He still had to learn if his body was affected in any way.

**Procedure concluded.**

**Scanning the body…**

**Scan complete: no threats detected, no alterations detected.**

A sigh of relief escaped his lips. This half-insane experiment seemed to have ended in a massive success.

“Sky, keep monitoring any changes.”

**Analysis…**

**Counting the active particles…**

**Counting complete: 1564.**

**During the spontaneous burst most of them have disappeared. **

“Forever?”

**Negative.**

**They are observed to replenish their numbers.**

Max wasn’t expecting any new organs, no doubt, but there should’ve been at least some alterations to the blood, no? Why are these particles part of it, yet do no interact with heart? Magic? Yeah, best explanation of all times.

**No answer found. **

**There is a need to release the energy that is produced by any vital process.**

**Reason: close interactions between magic and overall structure of the body.**

“Great. Continue the observations. Determine the speed at which magic replenishes. All results are to be recorded and placed in a new folder in the archives.

**Understood.**

The boy sat down and started to examine his skin, now free from any cuts and other injuries. If he understood Sky correctly, it is of vital importance to release magic from time to time now. He could just let it sort itself, but that seemed like a dangerous idea. Particles would reach a critical mass and Lord knows what would happen after that.

Max realised that he could only use the excess thanks to Sky’s nigh unlimited control. He could not only release them, but also regenerate at accelerated rates.

“Sleep…” – he fell onto the pillow and felt his mind wandering away. This was not the best time to take a nap. However, who would search for him? Who needs him?


	4. Part 3: The Leaky Cauldron

_I’m surrounded by pathetic worms. Mediocrity. The square equations – level of the EIGHT grade? Unthinkable. Why do these monkey miscarriages even exist, having such underdeveloped, narrow thinking? Slaves, all of them, unworthy of attention._

_They can consider me psychically unstable. I shouldn’t be angry at the truth, right?! He called me a delusional psycho, so I ended his delusional life!_

_Madmen, drowning in the ocean of uncertainties, morals, idiocy. I will never get bored from watching that look, look of a snuffed out life. It is at that moment that these microbes unexpectedly BAM, and realise that all this is just an insane circle of controversies. _

_I hope to one day meet a truly FREE human. For now, only snakes save me from the grasp of the solitude. Oh, and the gallery. Burn the hearts of its defilers, turn them to nothing but ash and let the doubts scatter them._

** _Fragment of the personal notes of A. Bateman_ **

** **

**One day later**

Entirety of the following day Max spent monitoring his body and taking measurements. Magic’s replenishment speed was almost 3 particles per minute. If you consider how many there are, this doesn’t seem like that big of a number.

He decided to go for a walk and try to locate the local wizards hiding spot. Cloudy weather forced the orphanage’s staff to show him unthinkable generosity: he was given an almost new jacket. Until tomorrow, of course.

Lost in the heights of his thoughts, he walked quite a distance. Siren of an ambulance and the buzz of the crowd returned him to the earth, forcing to concentrate on his main objective.

“Sky, scan the surroundings for wizards. Radius – maximal.”

**Executing…**

**Scanning…**

**Scan complete.**

**Matches found: 2.**

“Find!”

**Executing…**

Max froze in the middle of the road, as if suddenly walking into an invisible wall. Some people looked at him in confusion, but he couldn’t care less. In just a few seconds he was eyeing the crowd, searching for a face.

“Target located,” – said Sky readily once his eyes fixed on a man in a white coat. There was no point in searching for another wizard or exercise his poor stealth skills anymore. A simple, friendly approach has proven itself to be effective. Max rushed to catch up with his target.

“My apologies, sir, could you help me?”

Supposed wizard look oddly regular. His hand immediately darted towards his pocket, revealing his trained reaction. However, once he saw the orphan, he relaxed.

“Sure thing, pal. What can I do?”

“You see, uhm, I have forgotten where, you know, well, that… Passage to our world is,” – he was almost whispering in the end, head lowered on shame.

His acting skills were very limited. In his previous life he chose to walk a different path – a path of solitude and minimal contacts with other humans. He did not think that jumping into the whirlwind of emotions and problems of other people was a good idea.

“Huh, I see. Let’s not stand in the middle of the read, shall we?” – the man said, pulling him by the sleeve, away from the crowd.

“So you are one of us, aren’t you?” – he winked at Max, who was desperately trying to look ashamed. – “How did you even learn about the magical street?”

“A man showed me, he saw me lifting leaves in the air,” – Max lied, without even thinking. – “I’m from the White Rose, the orphanage, so, you know…” – he finished, careful to not overact.

“Well, “The Leaky Cauldron” is half an hour of walking from here.”

“So this IS the Potter’s world? Jackpot! In the land of the blind even the one-eyed is a king!”

“…can’t apparate either. I have some business, but nothing that can’t wait,” – he quickly finished, looking at the boy who was ready to burst into tears. – “I won’t be following you around the shops, though. Understood?”

“Of course!” – Max nodded furiously. – “Just bring me there, please.”

Next thirty minutes seemed to become an eternity. Max has spent all this time trying to push the wizard’s buttons, acting all poor and miserable. This compassionate fool gave him a galleon and advised him to talk with the barman. Even though he was known as a “sly bastard”, he could help.

Arnold Hill was quite weak as far as magical power goes and he admitted it. He was beaten around by the life, but now he lived a calm life with his family and quietly worked as a clerk in the Ministry.

“Here we are. Remember the road, Michael, ok?” – Arnold said, showing Michael a small, dull door.

Max thankfully nodded, laughing at this idiot inside his head. He didn’t even bother to ask how did “Michael” chose him and not one of the hundreds of muggles around. He waved goodbye to Hill and entered the bar, ready to improvise.

Just like in the movies, “The Leaky Cauldron” was a pitiful sight. It might have been done on purpose, creating a dark atmosphere. Max couldn’t figure out, though, why would anyone do that. Quirks?

Next to the stand was a fat wizard in green robe. The bartender was standing there too, cleaning the bottles and talking to someone quietly. There was also a group of shady people, drinking what he thought was whisky and a woman who was writing some symbols on a piece of parchment.

Max closed the door behind him and pulled the hood on his head; showing his Harry Potter-like appearance might be unwise. He was still unsure what the boy’s role in this world was. Wizard in green robe had just left, and Max jumped on the opportunity to talk to Tom.

“Good afternoon,” – he started, radiating friendliness and good manners.

“Good afternoon indeed, young man. Muggle-born, am I right?”

“Yes, you are correct,” – no need to lie this time. – “Could we talk privately?”

Tom reached for his pocket, pulled out a wand and waved it twice.

“The dome of silence, or the charms of confidentiality, whichever you prefer. Speak, I’m listening. What’s your name, by the way?”

“Michael Valter, sir. You see, I’m currently homeless. I need to stay somewhere in the wizarding world and find a way to fix my health. Is that doable?” – he showed the galleon and the old barman was quick to take it.

“Won’t even ask how you got the money. I’ll see what can be done here. There are several shopkeepers that might be in need of an assistant. Magic doesn’t solve every problem, you see. You can spend the night in here, but if no one will be interested in what you have to offer, I won’t let you stay any longer, not without a payment.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

Honestly, he didn’t expect that the old man would handle everything himself. And if this goes south, he is used to spending nights on the streets.

“How blind the people are sometimes, Sky… Or maybe Potter is no national hero in here.

**You are absolutely correct. People are blind.**

“I like hearing that your opinion matches mine.”

**You yourself have ordered me to agree whenever you state something with philosophical subtext. I am not a fully developed personality and, therefore, do not have any opinions.**

“Why did you have to ruin such a perfect moment?”

Following the barman, Max walked up the screeching stair. He was handed the keys and shown where his room is. It has pleasantly surprised him; Max, of course, wasn’t comparing to the twenty second century, but, as he recalled, the wizards were very conservative.

“I just wish I wouldn’t end up locked up in some lab, who knows what happens in people’s minds.”

**I have detected an attempt to breach the archives.**

“Interesting. Tom couldn’t hold back and tried to use legilimency?”

**Precise answer unknown.**

“From now on, always warn me about such mental attacks.”

**As you command.**

He smirked. The AI was keeping his mind safe from the outside interference, no matter who tries to breach her defences will be left with nothing. Sky model was protecting its users from psy-attacks even back home, and here, where it had access to magic…

Carefully closing the door, he approached the window and opened it, letting the fresh wind fill the room. The view was truly magical. The lively street, white-stone road, mismatching houses. Every building seemed to double up as a shop, where people were buying the potion ingredients, clothes, artefacts, and much, much more.

The boy spent some time admiring the everyday life of the Diagon Alley. Then he took the newspaper off the table and sat on his small bed. He studied the first page of the “Daily Prophet” and started reading the first article.

** _Harry Potter – Albus Dumbledore’s personal pupil_ **

_This week the Supreme Magwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, the Chief Warlock of Wizengamot, and the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore has confirmed his official status as mentor of Harold James Potter. As was stated before, during the last two years young boy who has defeated the “Dark Minister” has spent learning magic from Dumbledore, yet only now has he officially acquired the status of Dumbledore’s personal student. _

_“I will devote all my effort to studies and will not disappoint the people who put their hopes in me,” – stated the “Symbol of the Light” to the reporters._

_“We are so proud of our son. We hope that with Dumbledore’s help he will not only grow as a wizard, but also become an honourable person,” – say Lily and James Potter._

The photo in the newspaper showed him a happy family in front of a big house, smiling to the readers from the front page. He does bear some striking resemblance to Harry Potter, could they be related? Harry did appear older, though. No glasses, famous scar in its place. The elegant hairdo wasn’t able to conceal the eyes of a child happy with his life.

Somewhere in the back of his mind Max felt something resembling sadness. He remembered how his mother wanted to sell him to some maniac for a price of hundred euros. It was then, when he was only thirteen, that he had committed his first murder. Not that he ever had any regrets.

He also remembered how he was surviving on the streets the following two years, resorting to stealing and drug dealing. Until one day he was taken to the “school for gifted children”, or, simpler said, a lab. It was discovered that he was almost perfectly compatible with a new model of an AI chip they were developing.

Max used to think that his life was unfair. Now… He saw an opportunity to become something greater, more powerful. With Sky’s help, no secret of magic will remain hidden to him. As for family…

“There is nothing more stupid than repeating the same mistake twice.”

**Somewhere in Albania**

“Wand on the ground, now!” – cried a wizard in scarlet robe, addressing a bald man, wearing a strange purple turban.

“That must be a mistake! You have no right!”

“Shut your mouth!” – harshly interrupted him one of the aurors, while two of his colleagues pointed their wands at screaming wizard. – “There are three of us. Don’t be even more of an idiot and turn yourself in, while we are still in good mood.”

Unexpectedly, Quirinus Quirrell laughed in a vastly different voice and calmly said.

“Sadly, he is not available at the moment. Try talking to him later.”

“Who the hell are you?” – nervously said one of the aurors, raising the magic shield.

“Ten points to Gryffindor if you guess,” – he winked at them, conjuring five fire spears with a simple hand gesture. – “I’m the one you’ve voted for during the last election.”


	5. Part 4: Quintessence of Madness

_Occupation. People are often forced to do something they dislike, something that brings them no pleasure. Such is life. But I will not become a pathetic servant of the system, replacing my life with mere existence. NEVER!_

_Somewhere in the future I will be an international arms and drugs dealer! That is when the fun begins. There is no reaching perfection in the art of death._

** _Fragment of the personal notes of A. Bateman_ **

** **

**27.08.1990. “Black Leontopodium”, a magical ingredients shop**

Worst case scenario did not occur. The barman was able to find an employer for Max. Of course, the boy had long abandoned the idea of returning to the “White Rose” and decided to stay in the Diagon Alley. There was nothing for him in the muggle world. It was time to move on, walking an unexplored path called “magic”

Valter’s work was simple: he was to cut, sort, prepare, and pack the ingredients. Sometimes the shop owner, Adam Baker, would let him practise making first category potions. Potion against the headache, to speed up the regeneration, improving memory, changing the looks, amortentia – there were thousands upon thousands of potions, all ready to do whatever he needed them to.

Valter did not waste even a second. Tens of books were already archived, creating constantly growing tables of ingredients and recipes. One more aspect of magic that drew his attention was transfiguration. As it turned out, even something as trivial as turning a match into a needle required great concentration and effort.

When a spell was cast, kreylints (a term for the magical particles he had discovered recently) rushed through the body into the wand, and then into the outside world, changing it to the wizard’s bidding. It was them that determined how “durable” the wizard was. They did slowly regenerate until the limit is reached, Michael, however noted that he did have far fewer than most other children.

He had learned his and his magical predispositions with the help of an artefact in the Ministry, where Adam Baker brought him. They have also visited St. Mungo’s, and Michael has gotten a list of potions that he would need to drink if he wanted to reverse the damage done to him in the orphanage.

He has already felt the effect; even though he had spent most of his time in the lab, the pains have gone away. This has pushed him to the idea of physical exercise. It wouldn’t hurt to improve the body as well as mind, right?

Studying the books, Michael has discovered an enormous advantage that he had had over any other wizard: where the others had to spend years of active training perfecting their control if they wanted to become proficient at spellcasting, he had a “shortcut”, Sky. It was mostly her who controlled the kreylints, after all. Even better, every branch of magic required a unique approach, making constantly shifting them an extremely difficult task. Here, too, Sky would come to his aid.

Sadly, this didn’t mean that he faced no challenges whatsoever. Where his soul has aided him (in the form of the AI), his aura was sabotaging him. Its outer layer was slowing down any magic flow, be it into or from the body. Usually it was worn out by the time child was 11, but he, who was placed away from the magical world, had it mostly intact. It would take time to break this improvised “eggshell”. Luckily, this layer wasn’t all that thick.

Second layer of aura (or, as the wizards preferred to call it, nadrior) was known as the “bearer of the seals”. Its most known aspect was creating a seal whenever a wizard killed a living being. These seals helped greatly in controlling the dark and the nekr, and the more one had, the bigger the boon.

This was the reason that people were so afraid of dark mages. Not only were most of them free form the shackles of morality, many have gone mad with power, seeking to amplify their abilities even further, ending many innocent lives. Mostly muggles, though. They were easier to obtain.

“Sky, status,” – Michael ordered, testing the new command

**Name: Michael Valter**

**Species: Human**

**Age: 10**

**Kreylints: 3271/3794 [3/min]**

**Predispositions:**

**1\. Elemental**   
**>> Fire – 49%**   
**>> Water – 12%**   
**>> Air – 6%**   
**>> Earth – 4%**   
**2\. Chaos magic – 11%**   
**3\. Astral magic – ?%**   
**4\. Order – 0%**   
**5\. Nekr – 36%**   
**6\. Rocrest – 24%**

He had developed a great liking for watching his reserve slowly grow and regenerate. He adored the feeling of becoming more and more powerful, drop by drop. There were ways to accelerate the process, however, none were available at the moment.

Such pathetic predispositions angered Michael. Baker had over 70% for water and earth, and he wasn’t even that strong. They may grow, if Merlin allows, but not much, and only if he gets lucky. Not everything was bad; unlike in the movies, emotions played no part in magic. You can cast Avada or Crucio without needing to feel a thing.

**Second stage of the potion is ending in 24…**

**23…**

**22…**

Quickly putting away an old tome, Michael rushed to the copper cauldron and added several ingredients. This extra work helped him earn a bit more than what was promised at the begging. He couldn’t wait for the day when he’ll buy his wand. He almost had the money. Illegal? Not at all. Garrick Ollivander was happy to sell a wand to a child of any age, if you “ask” him properly.

It was a tad sad that muggle currency could not be exchanged for the galleons. Of course, there was a more unorthodox way – buying food, jewellery, other materials and selling them to the wizards. The only danger was if the Ministry would discover such actions. These vultures have kept a careful watch over the actions of their citizens, taking every opportunity to stop illegal actions or just to fill their own pockets.

Michael’s plan was to create a second generation AI chip, and then to reanimate a corpse using the nekr. Sky would link with the chip and control the creature, every aspect of it. The alternative was to capture a living target and use it as materials, but that would require at least the basics of mental magic. Key point: there were plenty of options, and so nothing would stop the creation of the fifth generation androids.

Finishing the work with the potion, Michael decided that it’s time to set another plan in motion – to find a partner. Questionable mental stability did seem like a problem, but hey, no two psychos are alike. He wasn’t very “normal” by the standards of the society either, yet it didn’t cause any problems.

The boy put on a newly bought black jacket and trousers and left the lab, entering the main area, in which the clients were served and some ingredients lied under the protective charms.

“Going to Flourish and Blotts?” – Adam asked. – “Take this thing with you…”

“No, sir, just want to walk around London.”

“Well, whatever you say,” – old potion maker was a bit surprised. – “It is good to rest from time to time. Be careful.”

“Don’t worry. I have grown on the streets, after all.”

The Diagon Alley was beaming with life, hundreds of wizards hurrying to finish their very important business. Listening to the fragments of what others say, young mage pulled the hood over his head and headed for “The Leaky Cauldron”.

“I just hope that you are not killed by some smartass.”

**Somewhere in London**

“I know it was you who killed them. YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU WANT?” – the teen screamed at the top of his lungs. He expected threats, maybe some condescending laughter. It was impossible to prove Bateman guilty. And yet, the black-haired girl surprised him by falling on her knees.

“I… I… No, Johnson. I’m sorry, you… all of you… think I’m a monster,” – she wrapped her hand around her head in desperation.

Long, thick grass surrounded them, and a bit further to the right was a small lake. Its calm waters went blurry as dozens of snakes left its depths and slithered to group of teens, oblivious to the dangerous reptiles.

Faint cries could be heard, as the girl seemingly tried to take as little space as possible.

“I just… want love! True love, so that at least one living being would treat me as a human. I’M NOT A MONSTER! I’M NOT!” – her jeans and jacket were covered in dirt, but Andrea did not care, lying on the ground and shaking in tears. – “Why are you all so mean? Why? Joe! I always liked you! Since the last month, when you arrived, I understood that you are a great guy!” – she lifted her hands, as if trying to grab the sun. – “Tell you guys, let’s live in peace. I love you, I love you all!”

“My God, and she is only ten,” – Johnson could pity Bateman. Just how crazy must one be to sat stuff like that? His blind anger was gone, leaving only indignation. She will be punished or else this chaos will spiral out of control.

“Afraid?” – he asked, pulling a knife out of his pocket. Click – the blade is ready for service. – “Should have thought before taking the lives of others. Nice play, I almost believed you. Lunatic, I care not why the others are afraid of you,” – with every word he came closer and closer to her, knife flickering in his hand. – “There are things worse than death. Like being an ugly freak for the entire life. Shall we check that?”

Johnson never understood how that happened. One moment, and Bateman’s blue eyes turned red, while she darted on her feet. Joe didn’t notice when she rapidly closed the distance between them, so his blade went flying into the tall grass. Horrible pain in his crotch and his right knee forced him to fall.

“IDIOT! IMBECILE! FOOL!” – a heavy boot met the fourteen-year-old boy’s face. And again. And again. Andrea only calmed down when the skull cracked open.

“Goddamn moralists! Son of a bitch! You should wear helmets, degenerates!” – she pulled the boot out of a bloody mess and walked few meters away, ignoring the group of snakes. Her weakness caught up to her; she really wanted to take a nap, but there was work to be done.

_“Mistress, why kill so many humans?” _– a snake asked.

_“You were late,”_ – Andrea hissed in return. – _“That is why the plan has fallen apart. Hate it. Go away! You are scaring my staff.”_

Second teen has entered the grassy field. He saw the corpse and covered his mouth in an attempt to stop his breakfast from leaving his body.

“Kevin! Mi amigo, you are the one I’m looking for,” – Andrea waved in the direction of the corpse. – “Be a dearie, remove him. Into the lake. Well, him, what was his name? Hmm, forgot. Come on, hurry up. I have to clean myself in the meantime,” – she bent down and picket up the spoils of the recent battle. “Not bad. At least something useful out of this worm.”

“Why?!” – the boy shook in fear. – “Why?! Was there no way to avoid all this bloodshed?”

“He asked for it. Chill,” – Bateman bumped her fist into her “friend’s” shoulder. – “B.I. “Bateman Industries”! Sounds good? Soon, all this territory will be under us. We, you and me, will do such wonderful things!”


	6. Part 5: Tandem

_“Mrs White almost lost her mind when you disappeared. Drowned in her endless sobbing and fear. So many deaths. Impressive, huh?” – Michael pulled his hood down. Indifferent look of green eyes stunned her for a second. _

_“Honestly? Don’t care. Look, I have an interesting proposal.”_

_“Really?” – only a deaf couldn’t hear the scepticism in her voice. – “You? To me? Hilarious. Valter, let’s be honest – you are but a grey, common maggot.”_

_“We are not who we seem. I would advise you to be politer, your snakes are far away,” – cold smile touched his lips. – “A grey maggot can easily break a head. No need I explaining whose?”_

_“Oh, the cruel irony,” – Andrea giggled. – “You sure?”_

_“Absolutely. Let’s keep it short. The source of your powers is magic,” – he clicked his fingers and a nearby branch flew into the air. – “I hope we’ll come to an agreement.”_

_Bateman closed and opened her eyes and then kicked the “requisite”, which did not find that impressive and continued to levitate._

_“I love a diplomatic approach.”_

**Sometime later**

Sun has long hidden behind the horizon, but the Diagon Alley was still full of light, thanks to the special artefacts. The night pleasantly surprised with the absence of any wizards, even though some shops were still working. Valter wasn’t afraid of the magical criminals. Knockturn Alley was far from the Baker’s pharmacy. Of course, this was but relative safety. On the other hand, what was there to take from them? Souls? Yeah, right, all the dark wizards are capturing children on the main magical street, next to the Ministry’s building.

“System… Entire world under our noses,” – sad whisper escaped Bateman’s mouth. Again. – “Unthinkable.”

“What does system have to do with this?” – Max asked. – “Are you disappointed after everything you’ve seen? Imagine the room for improvement.”

“Uniqueness. I’ve lost way more. The illusion of perspectives. Thanks. You are the first human that does not cause me to feel disgust.”

“I’ll consider this a compliment,” – Valter approached the pharmacy. – “We are almost there.”

He took a medallion out of his pocket. This little artefact allowed him to pass the guarding wards without triggering them. Following the instructions, he “drew” a circle in front of the door. A minute later, Baker appeared.

“Have you not seen what time it is? For Merlin’s sake.”

“Forgive me. This is…”

“Andrea Bateman, sir. My apologies for such a late visit,” – she politely spoke, taking the conversation in her hands.”

“She is a witch. We lived in the same orphanage,” – added Michael. – “She doesn’t have a place to stay, so…”

“This isn’t a hotel, in case you forgot. Send her to the “Cauldron”.”

“Please, let her stay in the lab. Just for a day. I’ll be responsible if anything happens.”

“All right, come in,” – Adam said after thinking for a few seconds. – “But you will take her to the Ministry yourself. I’ve got no time for that.”

“Of course, sir.”

The house elf prepared a bed and some fresh sheets; the pharmacist left, leaving the children to their own devises.

“Shall we get to know each other a bit more?” – Michael offered once they sat near the table. – “You have often shown your disgust for others. A misanthrope?”

“Cold,” – Andrea absently stabbed the steak with the fork. – “It’s about the purpose. Have you not noticed how boxed in the people around are? Cardboard all around. System… There was a reason why I’ve mentioned it.”

“Was there?” – he started to understand the motivation of the supposed daughter of Voldemort. – “The system was built by the people. They are the ones who maintain it, too. There is no reason to try and change the world. It is easier to accept the rules and only break them when necessary.”

“How adaptable of you.”

He shrugged.

“Can’t deny. Morale is a pillar of order. It does not matter if the murder and theft become norms, so long as there are ideas about “good” and “bad”, the system will remain a part of our reality. For me, the means to an end are grey.”

“Interesting,” – Bateman but away the fork. – “We are ten. You do realise how absurd this entire situation is? I was always told… YOU’RE A FREAKING GENIUS!” – the dishes jumped up when she smashed her fist into the table. – “But… The thing is… They are all idiots. Madmen. Their lives are grey. They all scramble to find the meaning of life. But there is none. There is only chaos. Insanity is monotony. Not natural, mental one. When you start believing that holding back your impulses for the strangers is right. As if preserving morality at the price of wellbeing is worth it!”

The more she spoke, the more he became persuaded that he chose his ally correctly. Andrea lives only today. It is enough to provide her with some basic comfort, while…

“Happiness. You enjoy the torture of the society, dream of its agony. Am I right?”

“The art of death is incomprehensible. The last mark, finishing touch. The question lies in the execution. What would you feel were you to read a horrible epilogue of an amazing story? Emptiness? Bitter aftertaste? Anger towards the author? Or would you ignite with the wish to write your own masterpiece? With a fitting conclusion? This is the difference between the artist and a maggot.”

Alrighty. The contract is a must in her case.

“You see,” – he continued. – “Most rituals require at least two people, and the effect of the practical exercise is more than doubled. Not to mention that I might need some materials from the muggle world from time to time. There is no chance to pull it off alone, together, though…”

“Haven’t we reached an agreement already?” – Bateman quickly took the knife out. – “I will not forget your help. Not until you give me a reason.!

**Somewhere in Albania**

“Open your eyes, my friend,” – a happy voice forced Edward to return to his senses. Once the auror saw the face of a wanted necromancer, the blood rushed from his face. No matter what, he did not want to die.

The surroundings were not inspiring optimism either. A typical torture dungeon with all the necessary equipment. The prisoner was fixed in place with the kreylint blocking handcuffs, chained to a wall. Quirinus Quirrell looked bad, and that had nothing to do with his status as Albania’s most wanted.

“You know,” – he started slowly, walking around the room. – “I never understood graduates who come to work in your department. What motivates them? Feeling of justice? No, not at all. Greed? Insanity, your pay is nowhere near the risk you are forced to accept,” – the bald wizard approached Edward, who was sweating intensely. – “Power. The feeling of privilege. Am I right, Brown?”

His only option was to engage in the dialogue with the psycho.

“What do you know? I’m only a lower rank operative,” – the tongue was barely moving, throat – dry and creaky.

“True. But do you know who are you sent to hunt down? No. But most likely…” – a quiet moan could be heard somewhere right of the Edward. He saw another prisoner. The best term to describe this poor soul was a “meatball”.

“Avada Kedavra!” – shouted the wizard, eliminating the bleeding mess. – “The owner of this wonderful place. Former,” – he casually explained. – “Where was I? Right, you likely know how many of your co-workers were sent after this idiot,” – he pointed to himself. – “I also want to know where did I make a mistake, what have you learned. And the most important: I am well aware of the government’s hideouts. You can babble about your low rank all you want, you are part of an elite fast reaction squad, you are surely in possession of all the information I need.”

The auror thought about his family that he will never see again. He presumed that no one could be more insane than the wife of the Dark Minister, Bellatrix Riddle. He saw her with his very eyes, participated in her capture.

It was then that Edward swore that he will kill psychos like her was he ever to see one of them. Armed resistance, everything is legal. If he had his wand. No use. The necromancer has dismantled several squads all by himself.

“I can’t…”

“I know, I know! The oaths,” – Quirrell put his hands in the air, pretending to give up. – “I have a special potion just for such cases. Mm-yeah, Crucio and other torture spells are so antique, they are only good for scaring people, not civil interrogation. One little flask…” – he theatrically lifted a little yellow bottle. – “And you will tell me everything, from top secrets to your childhood fears. Sadly, by the end of our conversation you will be no better than a victim of a dementor, but you won’t care at that point, now will you? The oaths will finish you off, don’t sweat.”

Once he realised what was in front of him, Edward could not hold his scream. There was no worse death. He knew about this project of the Department of Mysteries. Crucio was a friendly tickle compared to this.

“Please, don’t!” – he whispered. – “Hear me, don’t! I will tell them I’ve killed you! No one will look for you anymore!” – he was ready to bargain with his principals. No one will prevent from killing the bastard in the future, right?

“I can give you an oath…”

Dark wizard ignored all the pleas and emptied the bottle into the auror’s mouth.

“Deception attempt failed, Brown,” – with sweet condescending said Tom Riddle. – “The show must go on.”


	7. Part 6: Contract

_“…and now I would like to introduce a man, who will fill you in on the details,” – Albus made a pause and left the speaker’s place, letting the representative of the Ministry take his place._

_The appearance of this man caused loud whispers to emerge from the gathered people. Tom Riddle smiled and lifted his hand, silencing the crowd. Holding their breath, wizards were ready to listed to every word he spoke._

_“I am forever grateful to all those who came here today, despite the fear that fills the streets and souls,” – he started his monologue. – “Most of you have probably heard of the new terrorist group, the “Death Eaters”. Without a doubt, they are the biggest threat to the peaceful life of Great Britain. Magical and muggle; muggles are people just like us, and their rights are undeniable. Sadly, not everyone can agree with me. Modern aristocracy drags the society to the very bottom of moral principles. Some radicals truly believe that muggles are no better than animals, whose subjugation is needed for our race to flourish. Their cruelty knows no bounds; a human life is an empty sound for them. Last month they have stolen over four thousand citizens of Great Britain, and this is while their main forces are located in South Africa. It pains me to say that our brave aurors…”_

_“The moles!” – a one-eyed man interrupted. – “Damn bastards know everything about the operation before it even begins. I propose we interrogate every…”_

_“Alastor, we must think about the consequences,” – Riddle’s mouth shaped into a sad smile. – “The political aspect is the problem. Imagine reaction of the people were we to imprison the aristocrats. It would be unpredictable, that’s for sure. We must have something more than our ideas and gut feelings to act in such a way. Searches? We have worked in that direction, it’s no use. Their organisation is amazing: most of them do not even know the names of their “colleagues”. Their goal is clear and simple, like a piece of parchment. All the beautiful words and fiery speeches are just a cover for s-muggle-ing* and, potentially, overthrowing the government.”_

_“Minister, are you saying we cannot do anything to stop this nightmare?” – asked a red-haired woman._

_“Molly, please, allow me to finish my thought,” – the room filled with quit laughter. – “There is no legal way to stop the suspects. Moreover, we still could not identify the leader of the Death Eaters. Some sources state that this person might not even be native to Britain. If you ask me, Grindewald’s followers have something to do with this. Many have escaped the justice. Our goal now is to protect our future. Bright future. The new era is coming, but we are in danger to meet it in the pile of burning rubble. We cannot allow this to happen.”_

_The Dark Lord was having fun looking at the determined faces of the members of the “opposing faction”. A needed part of the equation. Both sides are strong. For now. Later, the endless stream of money, artefacts, the knowledge of the dead will result in inevitable gain. High position within the power structure is a tool, not a purpose._

_Most of the wizards present truly believed in Albus’s absolute power, but Tom knew that his teacher wasn’t even top ten, and neither was he. Someone like Flamel, Di, Luther, Maitland was there, however, these behemoths cared not for the squabble of the bugs, as long as their materials were supplied and their own comfort ensured._

_“We should create our own organisation, with the sole purpose to protect the innocents from the Death Eaters,” – said the Hogwarts’s headmaster. – “Voldemort. The name of this Dark Lord.”_

_“The name of a psychopath, bent on increasing his mastery of dark powers,” – added Riddle. – “If we all work together, victory is assured. Work as a team, as an order,” – everyone’s eyes were fixed on the flaming bird on Dumbledore’s shoulder. _

_“Order of Phoenix.”_

** _1970._ **

** **

**The next day**

After spending the night in the pharmacy, Bateman disappeared in the crowd and returned hours later, with a bag full of jewellery. Answering Michael’s curious look, she told about the “snake empire”. She had hundreds of slithering beasts under her control. Many “bases” were set up in the nearby woods and abandoned houses, keeping many of her treasures safe. Andrea managed to make quite a fortune, planning to invest in into the future shady business.

Unbelievable, yet true. A ten-year-old girl dreamed to become the head of an organised crime group. Genius, no less. Sadly, there was rarely a genius without a mental issue. Einstein, Mozart, Gogol, Dali, Schubert, Tesla, Newton… The list goes on and on.

There are no perfect people. Voldemort’s daughter suffered from the anger explosions, she was torn between conflicting emotions. Happiness, fury, sorrow, boredom, anger. The feelings were worn and discarded like gloves. Somehow, she managed to control herself if the adults were close. The ones who can ruin her life should they desire so. Therefore, it is not so difficult to hold the “storm” under control, even if for a time.

“Bateman Industries!” – she said, ending her tale on an upbeat note. – “Not hearing the applause. Where the heck is my applause?!! Urgh…”

“Even if we imagine this to be true,” – Valter nervously scratched his nose. – “Snakes aren’t exactly the most useful assistants.”

“Good enough to scare the larvae. No suspicions, they are everywhere. Ready to do anything I command, with all their hearts. I did get lucky, though. Managed to kill a degenerate that robbed a jewellery store,” – Bateman said in a calm manner. – “Can you imagine, he broke my arm. BASTARD! And I, heh, there was a petrol canister nearby, so I…”

“I get it,” – Michael interrupted this stream of jumble. – “Will you show those strengthening techniques you talked about?”

“Tomorrow, k? I’m tired, had to dispose of some tails. You don’t mind, right, amigo?” – she took a golden ring out of her bag. – “What do you think, do goblins care about the gold’s origins?”

“No idea. Better give it to the barman, Gringott’s seems like a bad idea. They won’t help the orphan, and will surely ask some uncomfortable questions. Even better idea – use Baker; though I don’t trust him myself, he is acceptable.”

“Do you at least trust me?” – with a true hope in her voice asked Bateman.

“Do you prefer an honest answer or a lie?” – he hardly supressed the laughter.

“Hey, I have firm principals! When your entire life is wandering in the desert, you start to value the first oasis with some CLEAR WATER!” – she shouted. – “A shame. Your cold blood will one-day drag you to a dark abyss. Sorrow. Hopelessness.”

“We know each other less than a day, let’s not…”

“Stop! Enough! No more grey sadness! Ok? Hate it!” – her hands gripped into fists, eyes filled with tears. – “Can you imagine how it feels? They told me to play with the peers. Cars, trains, dolls. I looked and asked myself: why, how, for what? Nobody answered. Only the books helped. Remember, Napoleon. Religion hold the poor form slaughtering the rich. And every bitch seeks to add more limitations, even if they themselves are but husks, unfilled, partial. Vandals. Never mind,” – calmly finished Andrea. – “I understand. A magical contract, a truce, an agreement of assistance. When? Today?”

Valter gave her the parchment:

“Look and say what you think.”

“My dude, impressive speed,” – she spent the next several minutes reading. – “Seems fine, aside from point five. It won’t let us have proper trainings.”

“It will if we agree beforehand. Baker is ready to perform the ritual, will take five minutes. No soul linking. One year. If the cooperation proves productive, will extend.”

“Sure, let’s do this.”

The magical contracts were not panacea, quite the opposite. The history is full of examples of idiots who believed into the power of these parchments and lost their lives. Unlike with unbreakable oath, the contract’s punishment could be avoided by an experienced mentalist. Michael was ready to take the risk. The child could not trick this curse. Even if Andrea is gifted in the mental magic, she has no experience. It will take ten or so years for her to wrestle back the contract, while he needs only a year to subdue her.

The ritual took place in the lab. The blood activated the artefacts, Adam help guide the energies into the nadrior. Such help was only needed when kids were doing the ritual, adults were able to control this process themselves.

Michael tried casting spells without a wand. Sky had developed a rough schematics of a spell and calculated the energy needs for casting a simple _incendio. _His predisposition to the fire aided greatly, reducing the number of kreylints needed. Even so, this simple action consumed half of his reserve, and since they regenerated slower than a dead turtle, he could only use wandless magic twice a day. There were some gaps to fill before the results could be properly archived.

Whilst his reserve refilled, he was practicing potions. No experiments, though, Valter did not feel suicidal yet. His main occupation was to archive the vast tables of ingredient compatibility, creating orderly sequences from the chaos.

“Well, congratulations to you two,” – Baker put his wand away. – “I’ve no idea why would you need a contract, just remember that it is not to be toyed with.”

“Ok,” – said Bateman indifferently. – “The agreement costs more than money, especially when the inflation is on the loose. Have a nice day.”

“Be careful with her,” – Baker stated, once the door was shut. – “No offence, Michael, but your friend sends my intuition into a panic mode.”

“What offence?” – he thought, looking at the fresh wound. – “Just a natural reaction.”

He could not understand the girl. Why so much needless violence? The death is no art; it is a simple natural process. At some point his research will grant him immortality. Maybe. Their training sessions were to begin in a couple of days, Andrea wanted to get acquainted with how the life works in the magical world. It was time to test some new AI functions.

Two weeks ago he wanted to dump extra kreylints into the surrounding world to avoid the blast. Now, he found a much better use for them. What if Sky would direct them into an organ, an eye, for example? The experience was more than curious. There was no fear for his body. The process was fully controlled by Sky. Now to apply the theoretical method…

* * *

*Sorry, couldn't help myself


	8. Part 7: Catalyst

_Yesterday, several snakes came through the sewers. Five, to be precise. My wife is scared, so am I. We have never seen anything like this before. I have met psychically unstable children before, but Andrea Bateman is the most peculiar case, most enigmatic. I must give her an amazing characteristic. Must! Or her pets will finish their job. Sadly, duties to the society pale in comparison to the safety of my family._

** _An extract from the notes of a child psychiatrist, 1988._ **

** **

**Several hours later**

“Sky, initiate.”

**Executing…**

Michael was ready to direct some extra power into his left eye. The expected effect… Logic dictated that he should temporary gain magical vision. He had read about it. There were artefacts with similar function, musty used by artefact-makers and curse-breakers. Every aspect had its own colour, and the tangled spells could detonate or neutralise other structures if their colours were conflicting. For example, the nekr purifying spell only interacted with nekr.

**3…**

**2…**

**1…**

**Redirecting…**

Left eye exploded with sharp pain, as if Michael had washed it in hot water. One more second of pain, and Valter could see an unusual view. The water-repelling robe was bright blue.

“Why blue? Wouldn’t fire be a dominant element?”

After a closer inspection he had found some red too, yet in a smaller degree. Faint web surrounded the main constructs, overshadowed by the opposing element. All non-magical objects were grey and dulled.

“Stop,” – Valter commanded.

**Executing…**

This “stop”, as well as some other commands, were Michael’s newly made functions. Fast reaction could save his life. He planned to replace Latin with numbers, that was much more efficient, at least until he learned the non-verbal magic. Handy sequences could also be “bound” to a series of numbers, not only drastically increasing the casting speed, but also confusing the enemy. Once the main principal is understood, changing shells in not difficult at all.

It was worth trying, at the very least. He needed more data, be it from some specialised shop or the Hogwarts library. Home-schooling was not an option. Safer, yes. That’s it. Hogwarts would provide so much more: forest, library, professors, diploma, if he even needs it. There was no reason to interfere with the story? People will die? Ok. Their problem.

Michael didn’t really like the society. An obstacle. It was much better to consecrate on himself and his goal. Magic. Its study, be precise. He would be polite, pleasant to be around. Means always justify the ends. An axiom.

Self-sacrifice is not an option. Consciousness? Honour? Nobility? Justice? Duty? Illusions. An ocean of pain and moral uncertainties, waiting to devour everyone daring to enter it. Everyone who would play a kind-hearted fool. Good or evil, there was only power. It allowed to define these terms. And knowledge is power.

Living Potters were an inconvenience. How would they react to him? Would be better if they just left him alone. Michael had no feelings for them, it wasn’t him who suffered ten years in the orphanage. Maybe the similarities in looks were just a coincidence, and they were not related at all.

Time passed by, as he dug deeper and deeper into the books, absorbing all the knowledge he could reach. A though of rest crossed his mind from time to time, forcing him to abandon the lab and walk around the Diagon Alley for an hour or two. Physical exercise and proper food started to undo the damage done to his body in the “White Rose”.

“Trainings” with Bateman were an everyday chore. The two accomplices decided to properly study the new place before starting to gather the materials. The operation was risky. They were mostly learning the theory; neither of them had their wands yet. She didn’t have to know about Michaels’ wandless talents.

Her strengthening skill was not described in any book. Maybe it was discovered in Asia, but there were no books from that region available.

A month later, the moment came. Buying the wand. The main attribute of any wizard. A tool, greatly reducing the cost of any spell. Only the transcendent could ignore them. Garrick Ollivander had finally returned to Britain after his long journey.

“I think it is time for you to buy that piece of wood,” – Baker said, giving Valter his salary. – “Here, by the way. A bonus.”

“thank you, sir.”

“I can go to the Ollivander with you.”

“No need,” – politely rejected the boy. – “I want to do it myself. Are you sure he will sell it to me?”

“Sure thing. Just give him this,” – Adam gave him a sealed envelope. – “He could reject a ten-year-old muggelborn, talking about the laws. But to someone form this world…”

“Connections are everything, right?”

The man stuck out his thumb.

“Exactly! Even the noble Gryffindor realise this with age, though… The houses, Michael, are quite a shitty thing, trust me. Slytherin are feared for their predisposition for the dark magic, but not all “scarlet” are displaying the proper behaviour.”

Valter smirked. Clearly, opinions are so fragile. They change, like currents, and the dark predisposition was mostly inherited. It was rare for a “good” child to have nadrior filled with nekr. There were exceptions, like Albus Dumbledore. That old weasel probably had strong order and darkness powers.

The darkness on the aura often affected the unformed characters, shaping negative (as the morale labels them) traits in the child. Not all Slytherin are manipulative bastards, but vast majority are cunning and cynical, ready to rip the throats of their enemies if need be. The atmosphere, darkness, and unique upbringing…

Other houses were not white and fluffy either. Gryffindor was a garden of future aurors, who by default could not be good guys. Their job was to arrest or even kill, after all. There was no “family magic” in this world. Amazing. Begging Potters… No.

“I will be back around evening, sir.”

“Good luck. Don’t even think about the Knockturn, you won’t last five minutes.”

“Aw, is it that bad? Don’t answer, I know. It is.”

“It depends. Maybe in a couple of years, with some artefacts and an escort,” – the shop-keeper frowned. – “Pursuing knowledge there is a dead idea, boy. “

The main magical street of Great Britain was barely fitting all the people. Manoeuvring in the crowd, Michael was slowly approaching the Ollivander’s shop. He knew the way; the map was long archived.

“Ollivander family – making wands since 382 BC” – he read. An odd way to attract clients. Valter has opened the door and entered the shop. It front of piles of boxes with wands sat a man, reading “Daily Prophet”. He looked rather similar to the book description: grey hair, eyes with no pupils. The last detail was rather unnerving.

“Good afternoon, sir. I want to purchase a wand, here,” – Michael handed over the envelope.

“Interesting,” – unsealing the letter and quickly reading the contents, old man stared at the visitor. – “What a wand, eh? Adam can be trusted. What hand do you prefer to use for magic?”

“Right.”

The entire process took around ten minutes. Utilising the moment, Valter asked several questions that books couldn’t answer.

“Excuse me, what do wizards need to create the catalysts?”

“A ritual. Don’t ask for details, it is hard to handle,” – vaguely described Ollivander.

“Probably related to aura. Maybe it gives some analogue of magic vision?” – thought Michael.

“As far as I know, every wand contains a magical substance. It makes them all unique, but what if you mix several fragments of the cores?”

Garrick shrugged.

“Such experiments were conducted, but the results are always terrible; the components destabilise one another, making the catalyst dangerous to the owner. If you want a muggle comparison, the minefield would fit nicely. You never know when it’ll detonate. The detonations are rather impressive, too.”

Once done with the measurements, he took a black box and gave it to Michael.

“Try this. Oak tree and the heart of a dragon, ten inches. Very though. Take it and tell me how this feels.”

“Sky, compatibility test.”

**Analysis…**

**Results: kreylints efficiency improved by 34.589%**

“No, no, this doesn’t get better with time,” – Ollivander said after Valter indifferently waved the oak wand in front of his face. – “One more time, take. Maple and unicorn, twelve inches. Very flexible.”

“Sir, do you maybe need to know my predispositions?” – asked the boy, remembering how long it took in the original story. – “It’ll make thing easier, no?”

“Sadly, this does not affect the wand one bit,” – enlightened him the old man. – “If you are so curious about the structure and nature of magical catalysts, there is some good literature out there. For now, take this…”

**Analysis…**

**Results: kreylints efficiency improved by 14.761%**

**Analysis…**

**Results: kreylints efficiency improved by 58.938%**

**Analysis…**

**Result: kreylints efficiency improved by 6.070%**

One and a half hour later even coldblooded Michael was ready to show his knowledge of the English swearing, even if he appeared calm on the outside. It was at this moment that the scan yielded some decent results:

**Analysis…**

**Results: kreylints efficiency improved by 97.802%**

He spun the wood in his fingers. Ten inches. Willow. Basilisk fang.

“A perfect instrument for dark magic,” – the shopkeeper noted, removing the other “branches” back to their places. – “I truly hope that you achieve great success with it.”

“Predisposition has no effect, huh? Damn bastard!” – he sighed, reaching for his pocket.

“How much is it, sir?”

“Fifteen galleons. You know, not all countries forbid the dark arts. I have visited the Netherlands recently, and their minister…”

“You are suggesting I’ll become a dark wizard, without any judgement or disgust,” – softly interrupted Michael, surprised by such calmness towards a potential killer. – “Does that mean you do not mind darkness as an aspect?”

“As I was saying, it’s not forbidden everywhere as something horrible. A branch of magic, no better or worse than other.”

“But… the dark wizards are amoral. It’s a fact everyone knows.”

“You will be surprised how many are killed by the hands of “light” wizards. Yes, they need to keep the aura clean to use the order, but what do you think, are there ways to kill without the dark magic? Leave alone the elements, a simple light charm can burn the eyes out when used at maximum force.”

“You mean _Lumos Maxima?”_

“Yes, indeed. I have only known a single truly light wizard, and he was not without a sin either. And I have known the one who everyone calls the Dark Lord. Trust me, it is hard to find a man more wise and just. Who knows, maybe you will become a bearer of this title one day, without becoming a beast. Forgive how forward I was,” – smiled Ollivander, looking at the shocked boy. – “Only the fools believe in different. Don’t let them trick you.”

**Italy, headquarters of the “Silver Star”**

The Tecton castle stood near the foot of a tall mountain, surrounded by dark woods. The territory was protected by the complex of charms most powerful, making finding this place extremely difficult, not to say impossible.

Grand stone fortress, with three towers overlooking the area far and wide. In the eastern tower was a room, and in it – the mistress of this place, who was calmly reading the books for the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Ester Crowley was difficult to forget: tall, with long ashen hair, thin face, and purple eyes, filled with joy. Her pale skin revealed an indoors lifestyle. Since the age of five she had to study the magical etiquette, history of the world and her family, and, of course, the magic itself.

She knew no other life. The books told her that kids are supposed to have fun, yet her teachers did not seem to share this opinion. As her father’s last will dictated, the heiress of the order was to be prepared to the harsh life of commanding the lives of others.

It just a few months she would leave the castle for the first time and leave for her homeland. Her dream of seeing the outside world would finally come true, and this caused her a lot of excitement. Her reading was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door.

“Open!” – she shouted, without leaving her bed.

An old man with a brown beard entered the room. The most dangerous werewolf in the entire Europe looked harmless at first sight. This couldn’t have been further from the truth.

“Prepare, you have a class in one hour,” – he said, pushing away the box with newly bought books. – “What new can you possibly find here?”

“Ren…” – she out away the “Hogwarts History”. – “That is no reason to ignore the school’s curriculum. By the way, where is Tom, you’ve said…”

“We’ve helped him hide,” – werewolf threw a file at her bed. – “Look. This is how much your wish costed us.”

Ester studied the first page without any interest and frowned.

“How did the numbers get so big?”

“he left a lot of traces. Luckily, the aurors mistook him for another wizard and pain with their lives for this mistake. Tell me – was that worth it?”

“I don’t know, but father would approve of helping the friend of the family. Why didn’t Tom join us for an afternoon tea?”

“Well…” – the man stuttered. – “Souls are not toys even for adults.”

* * *

Ester Crowley: <https://pm1.narvii.com/6708/4ddfad56828afc17d8a4855b0cae7e54a255595f_hq.jpg>


	9. Part 8: Interlude

_This time the devouring darkness was replaced by a bleak green hallway. Draco ran without looking back, without even thinking about stopping. If he was to have a single doubt about moving forward…_

_“You fight so desperately…” – an indifferent male voice said._

_Draco slowed down, the face of the nine-year-old displaying anger and fear._

_“Who are you?! Stop chasing me!”_

_“It won’t help you, though,” – continued the monologue. – “Lucius will be so disappointed when he learns about the death of his only heir. I can stop the deterioration of your aura, just say yes.”_

_Instead of answering, the child speeded up, trying to outrun this voice._

_“Don’t you want power? We will become one. One soul, one mind, one body.”_

_For the first time, Draco tripped and fell. There was no pain, only relief, as if he had achieved his goal. Raising his eyes, young Malfoy saw a dark-haired Slytherin/_

_“It’s okay, Draco,” – he smiled. – “You know, it’s way better to be a part of a whole person than a pathetic remnant.”_

** _1989._ **

** **

**12.07.1991. Somewhere in Albania**

Tom was melancholically thinking about his sad life as he ripped yet another muggle’s stomach open. He could make all his visions come true if it wasn’t for a baby. A one-year-old invincible baby that Riddle somehow did not defeat with the third Unforgivable. The historical window was wide open; after the defeat of “Hitler’s puppeteer” there were so few archmages of his and Dumbledore’s level. As for Albus himself… Fighting for the good and justice, as always. At least some things are not changed by time’s merciless flow.

Tom stood in some abandoned muggle building. In front of him was a pentagram for summoning the S-class demon. Demonology is very close to the ritualistics in its core, maybe a bit more “chaotic”. Forbidden absolutely everywhere, unlike even the nekr, this subsection of magic was considered way too dangerous.

The summons had different abilities and could usually be classified, yet people rarely sought demonic help because of the scarcity of knowledge. Most books about demonology were lost during the Renaissance. It’s a shame that no one sought to write any new ones.

There were different to summon the demons, this particular ritual required twelve muggles, or, to be precise, their souls. Seasoned with some pain, desperation, and madness, these will surely attract the needed hellspawn. Riddle preferred using legilimency to achieve the perfect mixture of these feelings. Right now he was killing time by removing any organs that could be used to create chimeras, you never know what tomorrow will bring.

No matter what Albus said, Tom had his principals: he never touched women and children (not personally, there were maniacs that literally experienced orgasm from the torture they conducted. He could despise them all he wanted, but they were rather useful). The only exception was Harry-motherfucking-Potter.

The prophecy. An important thing, surely nor something to be ignored. Even when he was young, he already learned how impactful could prophecies be, especially the ones that the Department of Mysteries recorded.

Sadly, everything went not according to the plan. Once Tom entered the nursery, the mother threw herself at him, screeching like a banshee and casting some basic curses. He stunned her, not wanting to harm the Snape’s beloved.

This idiot didn’t even conjure any defensive barriers, not that it would help. Tom planned to take Evans with him and give her to Severus as a reward. James Potter wasn’t home, a shame. Damn stag annoyed Tom all the time, especially during the Order’s meetings. Such narrow and shallow mind. To be honest, almost everyone there could be described as pathetic. A herd.

Approaching two infants, Tom was preparing for the kill. He felt awful and did not hide it. The idea of raising the child as his own was considered and evaluated as stupid. Considering the amount of corpses left after the Death Eater’s raids, he had long crossed the line he once swore not to approach.

Two kids confused the Dark Lord for a moment. Luckily, one was a squib. No reason to kill him. Riddle lifted his wand and cast Avada Kedavra.

Then… Darkness. Later he realised that killing a “light” child in the night of Halloween whilst having only a sixth of the soul was an outright dumb idea. This seemed to be the limit that Salazar wrote about. Now Tom could brag that he knew the exact number of horcruxes that reached the said limit. A stunning accomplishment.

Riddle wanted to later reunite some of his soul fragments with the main part, or else he risked not linking with the body. He needed a perfect homunculus, without ant nadrior curses. Especially not the “unicorn curse”. Former minister wanted to summon a demon and get some analogue of the healing blood.

Putting away the bloody knife, Tom read the summoning chant and left the pentagram. A brown-haired man appeared soon after, wearing a reddish suit. The demon looked around and smiled:

“Not bad. Decided to contact us directly, Lord Voldemort? Why so?”

Tom removed the hood. The hellspawn blinked several times, shocked.

“No comments,” – the beast tiredly said. – “A difficult cause. Some sort of half-spirit half-ghost? How are you feeling, genius?”

“I don’t need your lectures, Astarot. I need to fixate myself in this body, and the only option aside from the unicorn’s blood…”

“Is the pure chaos. Understood. What are you going to do with this shard? If the vessels are destroyed, I can organise the transformation of the soul.”

“I don’t have any desire to visit the lower plane, thank you very much. The horcruxes are safe and sound, even if they are out of my reach for now.”

“Your choice. How are you planning to pay back? Your friend had some Basilisk venom. Not gonna cut it in this case. “

The demons were traders. All their services resolved around manipulating the chaos. Powering an artefact, improve the chaos predisposition, etc. All these needed someone from the lower plane. The souls are the best way to create a hole between the two dimensions, they are not the demonic “currency”. These creatures desire the “light” artefacts, some rare ingredients, maybe the life-force. Selling your own soul is an exotic way of suicide, nothing more.

“I have an interesting artefact, based on the order. And I need some information about another such artefact.”

The demon raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“Well, I’m all yours. You do remember that we only work with order and chaos, right?”

“That is exactly what I need,” – Tom frowned as the pain pulsed in him again. – “Tell me all there is to know about the Philosopher’s Stone.”


	10. Part 9: Before School

"_The hell?"_

_Smith could only watch a little girl dancing around with the canister half-full of gasoline. One more circle and she threw the empty shell into the guy's face._

"_Wonderful! You've listened to my prayers and finally woken up! Marvellous!" – smiling insanely, Bateman quickly closed the distance between them. – "There is so much I want to tell you; a shame we have so little time."_

"_Wait!" – Smith tried to stand from the chair, but the ropes were too tight. – "Let's talk! There are enough jewels for everyone! You…"_

"_You're right," – she interrupted. – "See, Henry agrees too."_

_To his horror, Bateman pulled out his friend's head from her bag._

"_Right, Henry? Henry? Henry?! HENRY?! Isn't very talkative, is he?" – she complained and, catching the remains of the spine, threw the bloody head at the Smith. – "Friends should be together."_

_Giggling, the girl lighted a match._

"_Close your eyes. Burn in hell."_

**24.07.1991. "Black Leontopodium", a magical ingredients shop**

"OS – 6"

**19-53-71-22-10; spell sequence activated.**

A bright blue ray darted towards Bateman, followed by several others. The first curse – just a leg-binder – was easily dodged, so where the following two.

"Stupefy!" – shouted Andrea, aiming at her adversary.

Michael, however, didn't move, even though he could have avoided the curse without resorting to the shield. Right now he would be out of breath way faster than the agile girl. Her main problem during the fights was overly cautious usage of kreylints, when they could allow her to dictate the pace. She constantly preformed some acrobatics, dodging the rays and ignoring the shields, saying that she sees no use in them.

It was a shame she totally forgot to account for the speed difference, time and time again. All he needed to do is throw a curse where she, supposedly, would be in the next few moments and enjoy the view of the girl throwing herself at the spell. He won most of their duels using this one trick, and yet she still refused to admit the mistake.

"Four," – quietly said the boy, waving the wand.

The stunner ricocheted off of the sparkling shield. Evading three more curses, the girl was too late to react to the finisher, so her wand parted from her hand and rested in Valter's. He approached the angry cocoon of ropes.

"A small thing – _expelliarmus _and_ incarcerous _is the best combo I have at my disposal," – he thought, looking at his defeated ally. – "_Finite_. Why are you screaming all the time? The spell is not going to become any more powerful if you shout it at the top of your lungs, you know. Whispering is way more practical, adding the element of surprise," – Michael lectured her, as he helped her get back on her feet.

He was also hiding his new "language". Bateman could not read lips, and so saw no difference between the normal activation and his special code.

OS was an offensive sequence, where the number determined the spells and their order, while DS was a defensive analogue. There, however, were so few simple shields that he could bind together, and the lack of time and resources forced him to resort to the very basics of charms.

No wonder! He wasted almost four months developing the new activation codes! Calculations, calculations, calculations… They seized all his focus for the majority of the winter and spring. You may ask, what was so difficult? Sky controls the entire process, she shouldn't care what he says as long as she knows what he means, right?

It turned out that such direct approach simply reclassified the spell into a non-verbal category, doubling the energy requirements. The very structure was tightly linked with the verbal component, making it eerily similar to the coding.

Latin, Slovenian, Greek, Celtic language – all full of analogues. The command not only activated the effect, but also directed the kreylints. Replacing the command required creating new language of magic, and such an undertaking is not something to be done during the afternoon tea.

Every single detail had to be accounted for, from the speed to the density. Seeing as the kreylints moved with the blood, there also had to be a moment at which they separate and flow into the wand. Simply put, activating _Protego Duo _required 463 kreylints, and the most important task during the development was to take exactly 463 of the little buggers, direct them and separate them from the blood at the very end.

A human trying to account all this madness would go insane real fast, luckily, he had a processor stuck in his head. If only he had the exact numbers on all the human parameters… Yeah, dream more. Maybe the Department of Mysteries had something like that, but that nut was too tough to crack.

"How?! Next time I'm gonna kick your ass, Mike," – Bateman hissed as she got up. – "Thanks. I'm stronger, how does this keep happening?"

"Aren't you used by now?" – he smirked. – "Control, Andrea, control. Try reading "Theory of Magic" by Cristofer Schmitt, most attention at the "control geniuses" section. It's not about power, it's all about how you apply it."

"Yeah, yeah. So, this was an intentional attempt…"

"Again?" – he rolled his eyes. – "Calm down."

"No, Michael, I will remember!" – Andrea pushed him in the chest and smiled. – "I have principals, and you all live in the dumpster of your own mind! Magic, death, art – all pillars of a bridge. Traitors are walking around in broad daylight! Servicing their illusions, they will stick the knife into your back, but not me! Our world – our universe – is based around loyalty!"

"You are correct, as always," – Michael mentally prepared for yet another stream of nonsense. – "You know, we…"

"We are friends!" – she clutched her fists, and, hardly supressing the shiver, walked towards the door. – "That is why I desperately try to believe that you are not the asshole you want to appear."

"Why, just… Why?"

After the door slammed, Valter smiled with sadness. Voldemort's insane daughter sometimes really knew how to surprise.

Michael did not forget for a second who he deals with. No doubt, their cooperation made them closer, step by step. They could call each other first and only friends. It was just that personal gain always took priority for him.

Bateman's character was rather unique for the "normal" moral's viewpoint. Slaughter, rip open the insides, cripple – she committed "atrocities" on the daily basis. However, once the lying and betraying were becoming the subject… Andrea strictly followed the honour code, should a person prove themselves deserving. So far, only he succeeded.

Her mysterious skill inspired fear. Even though "berserk" used up kreylints, the enormous reserve allowed Bateman to rival an adult person for good thirty minutes. All in all, he had reasons to envy her, in a good way.

"Hey, Michael! There is someone from Hogwarts, waiting for you two," – the apothecary called.

"So soon? Coming, just to change and call Andrea."

"Do whatever you want. I'm back to work, she waits for you in the living room. Wait…" – his eyes inspected the dirty clothes. – "It would be better to clean yourself up a bit first."

That was exactly what Michael did. A few everyday charms removed all traces of an hour-long practise. The looks are the first thing anyone evaluates, and he aimed to appear as a well-behaved young man. This would help him create the right image in the school's eyes. As for the waiting… Should've warned beforehand.

Standing out was not preferred, a better course of action would be to test the waters first. As for the useful connections… Well, he never denied being a schizophrenic sociopath. People were only interesting as the stepping stones on his path to success. Yes, having a psycho as a friend is amoral. Any sane person would try to avoid her, but he… Just accepted the reality. At the very least Bateman didn't try to look like a tender princess. From the honesty's viewpoint, she was miles ahead of most other people. Her sentimentality was annoying, maybe he should fix that later.

Despite spending so much time on his numeric magic language, Valter was confident in his knowledge of the first year material, planning to spend his time exploring the library. The Forbidden Forest is way too dangerous in his current state. Too much risk for too little reward.

"I just hope my "parents" won't care about my existence," – some say that thoughts are material. They better be. Hiding in the school of magic was an utterly impossible task.

Michael also learned many potion recipes and was done with the magical history up to the third year. Entering the living room, he saw an old lady in the emerald robes. "Old" memory identified her as the Gryffindor's Head.

"Good afternoon. My name is Michael Valter. Andrea Bateman will join us shortly."

"Good afternoon indeed," – a dry smile touched her lips. – "It's ok, I believe you were already briefed about the most important things."

"Yes. Will I go to Hogwarts?" – the alternative was not that bad, but when choosing between the two evils, Dumbledore's school was a lesser one.

"Correct. Your letter," – she gave the future first year a sealed envelope. – "My name is Minerva McGonagall. We should wait for miss Bateman and then I'll fill you in."


	11. Part 10: Representative

_Gellert, you are wrong. I am certain that bloodshed can be avoided. Whenever the words "greater good" are heard, people can't help but think about insane fanatics. Funny, isn't it? Sadly, power perverts people. What I'm getting at is that it is very important to still be human when all is said and done. It is easy to kill one to save a hundred, but we are wizards, saving everyone is our right and duty. Magic allows us to bypass violence, and if the two worlds cannot be united peacefully… Tell me, how are we different than muggles, then?_

_Greater good… It doesn't exist. It is but hollow dream, Gellert, since everyone sees "good" as something different. Our only option is building utopia, where the good find happiness and the evil are rightfully punished for their crimes._

_ **Fragment of a letter from Albus Dumbledore to Gellert Grindelwald.** _

**Sometime later**

Minerva McGonagall was carefully watching the future students of Hogwarts, struggling to define them. They weren't regular kids, that's for sure. Andrea Bateman, no doubts, was the most beautiful first-year. She was somehow similar to the young Bellatrix Riddle.

"Maybe it's her eyes?" Full of condescending. Minerva recalled how she struggled to be better than her husband. A talented half-blood held the top position firmly.

Yesterday she met her own younger copy and promised to do everything in her power to aid the young girl. Hermione Granger risked not finding any friends was she to choose any House other than Ravenclaw.

Deep inside she knew what House will welcome this witch. On the other hand, people change. She herself was too late to realise that people are more important than books. At least no one can stop her from helping the new generations avoid this mistake.

While Bateman was busy thinking about smuggling a snake into Hogwarts, Michael was nervously waiting for the conversation to reach its logical conclusion.

"Mr Valter, pardon my bluntness, but where have you lived before?"

"Orphanage," – he answered. – "Why?.."

"Have you ever been told that you look just like Harry Potter?" – directly asked the Gryffindor Head. – "Unimaginably similar."

"Why, yes, people did point that out," – he confirmed in an indifferent tone. Nothing unexpected just yet. He grew tired of hearing that from Baker. The apothecary, since he wasn't blind, noted the similarities months ago, soon after Michael regained the proper mass.

"May I have a drop of your blood?" – politely asked Minerva, getting a surprised look in return.

It would have been more polite to ask him to present her the underwear he was wearing right now. Absurdity! In some less civilised placed she would have received a Crucio instead of an answer.

"Forgive this rude request," – tried to fix the situation professor. – "If you are afraid of possible consequences, rest assured, no harm would come to you."

"Oh, it's no big deal, but allow me to refuse," – a faint smile touched his lips. – "You planned to determine if I am related to Potters, correct? It would be better if I was present during the ritual, don't you think so?"

"Yes, yes, of course! Anyway, if you have any more questions about the subjects…"

"Questions, yes, but about sorting. Is it true that Slytherin is the House for wizards predisposed to the darkness? Does the education change depending on the House?"

"Slytherin welcomes the ones with the dark gift, correct. It does not mean, however, that they all choose the path of evil after the graduation."

"We all walk the same path, professor," – stated Michael, tapping the armchair. – "The inevitable dead end won't be dissolved by the good."

Bateman opened her mouth for the first time:

"It is judgement that pushes people into evil."

Minerva sipped the tea and warmly smiled.

"Quite right, miss Bateman. You know, many students of my own House often display prejudices towards the Slytherin. I myself try to prevent such actions, but the parents sometimes support such behaviour, erasing all the work I have done."

"It is no easy task controlling something like that, I understand you well."

"Let's talk about the curriculum," – McGonagall said, a bit hastily. – "The Houses differ only in specialities. Ravenclaw, to give an example, focuses on the numerology and charms. Gryffindor will help you develop your elemental attribute and transfiguration, as for Slytherin, if you have a talent for potions…"

"Wait a second," – Andrea fluidly pulled her letter. – "It says here…"

"What I truly mean is additional lessons with the Head of your House and a possibility to receive a recommendation for your future specialisation."

"Like the alchemy?"

"Correct."

Overall, McGonagall seemed like a reasonable woman, despite the earlier incident. To some extent he could see the logic behind everything. It would be amusing to see the Potters' reaction!

"What do you think?" – he asked Bateman once the professor left the room. – "Forget the Boy-Who-Lived, I mean the situation in general."

"Bullshit," – she grimaced. – "You know the House you will be in, right?"

"I'll survive, better think about your "hobby"."

"Pathetic maggots will lose their tongues and drown in blood," – Andrea burst into laughter. – "Anyone standing in the way of our fun will perish!"

"Calm down and don't you dare take off the "proper" mask, even if you think you are alone," – Michael smiled. – "Oh, yes! The library waits for the new generation of the seekers of knowledge."

"I can bet a galleon that you will sleep five hours a day and will be known as a gloomy sociopath in less than a month."

He silently stood up and folded his letter. Denying the truth is useless, ignoring works better.

"Hey, let's raid the shops."

"Now?"

"Why wait?"

Shopping lasted for an hour or so. They already had most things anyway, only the books remained. Bateman was getting on his nerves be constantly reminding him about the bone-shattering curse. It was a pure experiment, he meant no evil and didn't give much thought about his sparring partner.

After a shower and a lunch, he started walking around the lab, thinking about the future. Will the events described in books occur? What are the chances to just quickly emigrate? It's too early for that. Could the Ollivander be wrong when calling him Potter? Dreams…

One thing was certain – Michael couldn't care less about the conflict between the beaver and the donkey. A billion or two may die, his research of magic was more important. The society will sort itself out, it always does, and if thing go south, he can always escape Britain. Europe, if need be.

"Status!"

**Name: Michael Valter**

**Species: Human**

**Age: 10**

**Kreylints: 1358/4521 [4/min]**

**Predispositions:**

**1\. Elemental**

**Fire – 49%**

**Water – 12%**

**Air – 6%**

**Earth – 4%**

**2\. Chaos magic – 11%**

**3\. Astral magic – ?%**

**4\. Order – 0%**

**– 36%**

**6\. Rocrest – 24%**

His overall kreylint number and their regeneration speed have increased after the months of training. Still was rather unimpressive when compared to Bateman, who was operation with twelve thousand.

Closing his statistics, Michael remembered about the Hogwarts and the Sorting Hat. An artefact that with a single word decided the fate of a young wizard. A lot depended on the House, too much. According to the "Hogwarts History", it based its decision on the character, talents, and wishes of the student.

Is Slytherin that bad of an option? No. Good specialisation on one hand and a terrible reputation on the other.

Michael has figured out an important truth recently: magic is entirely based on the prime laws of this world. Knowing them is key to any further research. He will succeed. He must never give up, never stop improving, never slow down.

**Diagon Alley**

"So beautiful!" – Ester was overflowing with joy as she walked down the tidy street.

"It is a bit weird that they still wear robes," – noted one of her werewolf guards. – "Looks weird if you ask me."

Crowley shrugged.

"It is a custom, so be it. Now, the bank?"

"Yes," – the "brute" pointed at the white building, towering above the other. – "Gringotts. First we take care of our safe, and then…"

Listening to the mumbling of her servant, Ester thought about the life that awaited her.

"An interesting one, for sure!"

* * *

Translator's note: My apologies for the delay, as it turns out, moving to another country is a bigger pain than I remember. The translation should return to its normal pace, at least I hope it will.


	12. Part 11: Discovery

_Albus, pacifism is a fine ingredient, one must be extremely careful with its dosage. We both know I am in the right. Placing all hopes in magic is ridiculous, it will be but one more reason for their resistance._

_People fear what they don't understand. Time of pharaohs has long passed; the rulers of today are the research facilities. Even wizards used to worship the transcended, seeing them as gods._

_Remember, Albus, greater good is not a pipe dream, it is progress. Should we unite the worlds, the speed of our development will increase hundredfold. You look into the water yet fail to see the current the will wash away the blood of those who oppose the new world order. It is a pity you can't see that violence is the only catalyst, but, as my father said, experience comes with age._

_ **Fragment of a letter from Gellert Grindelwald to Albus Dumbledore.** _

**25.07.1991. Godric's Hollow**

Today was no different from the stream of similar days that made up Harry's life. Not until his parents announced that they were to visit his teacher. Potter knew that professor Dumbledore did not seek a meeting if there was no important matter to discuss. He simply did not have enough time for some afternoon and chatter.

Their home's fireplace was brightly lit, indicating the means of transportation his father chose.

"Please don't tell me we'll use the Floo," – lazily said Harry, entering the living room. – "For Merlin's sake, father…"

"Watch your tongue, Albus unearthed some information about your brother."

"What?" – Harry exclaimed, stunned. – "A stupid joke."

"That is no joke, my dear," – said a red-haired woman between sobbing. He, though still shocked, noted her unusually nervous state. Her face was covered in tears, and she tried to control the trembling, to no avail. Lily Potter only once was in such a state, three years ago, when the Ministry owl brought the letter informing her of her husband's death. She fainted that day; luckily, it was just a stupid joke that James's colleague made.

"Dear, get a hold of yourself, it's going to be okay," – James hugged his wife and turned his head to Harry. – "Harry, don't just stand there! Can't you see the state your mother is in?"

"Y-yes, of course," – as he tried not to drop the floo on the carpet, his father did everything in his power to calm Lily down.

Harry was the last to use the fireplace. He tripped and fell on the floor in his teacher's office. Quickly standing up and fixing his rope, he noticed that it hasn't changed at all. The silver cage was still standing by the window, housing the Fawkes. All sorts of artefacts occupied the shelves, tables, and even part of a big wardrobe with glass doors. Some twinkled from time to time, some clicked, some hummed some unknown tunes. The owner of this office was sitting at the massive table with his hands crossed and his head down.

"Good afternoon, Albus," – broke the heavy silence James. – "I am happy to see you again."

"It is sad I can't say the same, James," – gloomily answered the headmaster. Harry felt a sudden chill filling the room. Outwardly calm, the archmage was filled with rage.

"He had never been that angry before, not that I remember," – thought the Boy-Who-Lived, a bit afraid for his life. The aura of his tutor was strangling, inspiring awe. And fear.

"You know, even now I fall asleep and think about my sister," – Albus said in a tired tone. – "We value not what we have and weep when we lose it. I have but one question for you," – he finally looked up at the ashamed Potters. – "Why have you abandoned your son with no artefacts to defend him, to be able to contact him?"

"We…" – Lily gulped. – "We haven't thought that…"

"You haven't thought," – the archmage frowned. – "Of course. Why ever think? A fine family. I have considered you a fine couple," – Dumbledore painfully smirked and stood up.

Potters watched in silence how he gets a bowl of lemon drops from the wardrobe and returns to his seat.

"Right now I think, as sad as it is to say, that he was lucky. If his guardian's memories are true, he has grown to be an independent young man."

"So Alex is alive?" – asked Lily, holding her breath.

"Alive. Minerva, despite all the rules of basic etiquette, wanted to take a drop of his blood. Luckily, the Book of Souls right here has a useful secondary function. He has lived in an orphanage for nine years and spent his last year in the Diagon Alley, working for Adam Baker. I advise you to carefully think about what you will say to him. He won't welcome you with open arms."

"It is my fault," – James's voice was unexpectedly confident. – "When we heard about the fire and two charred kids' bodies, we assumed Alex to be dead. It all seemed so solid! And we haven't even considered taking his blood, he is a squib, no ritual would have worked."

"Artefacts, charms, my help, if need be. Why have you refused when I offered to hide your son? Didn't trust? Or just decided to hope for the best?"

Neither adult had anything to say to this. They planned to visit Petunia in a week or two, no one could have predicted the tragedy.

Harry was filled with fury. He assumed they have done everything to bring his brother back. His entire life he believed that he will revive his brother, no matter how much time and effort it would take. Dumbledore understood him like no one else could. They had the same goal, after all: to bring a loved one back without nekr or dark magic. Right now he was the happiest and loneliest person alive.

"Sirius, Remus, they knew! They had to! That means…"

"Would you abandon me like that too?"

Lily's head jerked as if someone hit her on the cheek.

"Harry…"

"Please, professor, may I leave?"

"Of course, Harry. Don't forget to take your parents with you."

**Somewhere in London**

The second shot shattered the empty beer bottle. Michael put the gun down and brushed his face with a towel.

"Cool!" – Bateman looked at their improvised practice range with satisfaction. The place was littered with the shards from previous targets. – "You are improving quickly, I must tell."

He nervously bit his lip and put the gun in his pocket. Yes, practice is a bloody useful thing, but the greed was screaming in pain inside him as the hardly obtained bullets were used up. Michael reached for a bottle of water, frowning at the scorching sun.

"I truly hope that cops won't come here. Or someone worse."

"ENOUGH! Chill," – the girl yawned and elegantly stretched. – "Try enjoying the life. Always inside, bookworm. World is beautiful," – she predatorily smiled and licked her lips as a group of teens approached them. – "About to get even more beautiful."

All of them help some sort of weapon. Bats, broken bottles, knives – the gang was well-prepared.

"Ah, shit. Just when we ran out of ammo," – a lie, but bullets better be saved for real trouble. – "A safe place, you say?"

Andrea made an apologetic face.

"Aww, forgive me, friend," – she unsheathed her new kukri. – "Let the feast of death begin."

"Without me. They come here for your head, so you sort this out."

"Thanks for all the great support."

"Any time."

"Look who we have here!" – shouted a tall guy form far away. – "Lost the last bits of fear, bitch?"

"And you seem to have dropped your birdbrain!" – barked Bateman. – "Shut the hell up and fuck off."

"Or else?" – they stopped five meters away. Five young guys, showing no signs of fear, one of them even laughing at Andrea's "knife".

"It's time you pay for Johnson," – the leader hissed. – "We spent a lot of time looking for you, and here you are, without your slithering friends. How careless."

"My man, back down. She's a freaking Ripper," – Michael noted. – "Listen to me, while there is still a chance."

"What's that barking form a trashcan? Shut your mouth and go sleep somewhere."

"Welp, I've done everything I can," – Valter turned to his partner. – "I'm off, my gentle psyche is too precious to me."

Instead of answering, Bateman bent down and put her ear to the bottom of her shoe.

"Idiots, right, Johnson? JOHNSON?" – she yelled at her shoe. – "Hear that? Silence is the sign of complete agreement. It seems we have a solidarity lesson on our hands. But first, why don't we all hug and take each other's hands?"

The teens stepped back in fear as her blue eyes filled with scarlet. She smiled, happily, scaring them even more.

"The hell is that?" – one of them mumbled, watching her suddenly sharp teeth. – "Run!"

"Where are you going?" – Bateman licked the blade and jumped at them. – "I didn't say you could leave."

"No, no, no, I'm not gonna stick here," – Michael murmured, leaving for the magical street, hands in his pockets. He paid no attention to the screams and pleas and death rattles.

In the pharmacy, Michael locked himself in the room and prepared an interesting experiment. He spun the little flask with the potion, a simple antidote for the _Furnunculus _curse. His left hand was covered with future testing material. He sat down and drank the blueish liquid.

"Sky, begin."

**Executing…**

**Scanning…**

**Analysis…**

**A magical influence on the body is detected.**

**Analysis…**

**Unknown type of energy.**

**Location: left hand, the skin.**

**Detecting alterations to damaged skin.**

"Sky, try slowing down the process. Pull all kreylints away from the hand."

**Executing…**

**Error!**

**The removal of magical particles does not affect the process.**

**Reason: no need for the said particles once the substance reaches the destination.**

The curse's effect disappeared before his eyes. Michael felt a sudden urge to try _Crucio _on someone, even if the activation chances are almost non-existent.

A failure! The potion follows a certain algorithm. A shame logic is so hard to find. What is potion? Magical soup from many ingredients with different properties. Once it reaches the bloodstream, it interacts with the kreylints, not using them up, but navigating with their help.

After some theorising he concluded that devoiding an area of his body of all magic will block the potion, but no! Somehow it still manages to perform its function just right! The brew only needed kreylints up to a certain point, after that the potion's effects became irreversible. Moreover, particular potions interacted with the body in varied ways, adding to the confusion.

"Maybe the curse itself serves as a magnet, a beacon of sorts," – Michael gloomily speculated. – "That could explain the lack of activator word."

Should he have added more furuncles, three, for example, the potion would split into three different currents and take thrice the time it took for healing one furuncle. At least some method in this madness.

"What am I doing wrong?" – he slammed the flask on the table and heavily sat down. – "The hypothesis may still be correct, but I must deepen my understanding of aura. The Hogwarts library should aid me in this. Hopefully the forbidden section will prove useful when I get in there."

How? An invisibility cloak? Or, maybe, the invisibility cloak, one of the Deathly Hallows, though Michael doubted that his brother possesses it at this moment.

"Oh!" – Andrea unceremoniously slammed the door shut from inside. – "Already here? Aren't you quick."

"Aren't YOU quick. Bad day for torture?"

"Nah-nah-nah," – she waved a bloodied knife in his face. – "Tell me this: do you maybe need some human organs? Selling at half price to all my friends, that is, you, you, and you."

Michael was about to roll his eyes, but them he gave her offer a second thought.

"No, sorry," – he answered in a few moments. – "I don't know any dark spells, yet. I will need some alive specimens in the future. You think you'll be able to handle this?"

"Cute and innocent" girl eagerly nodded.

"No problems. Bateman industries will fulfil any desire at any time."


	13. Arc 2: Foundation of Greatness. Prologue

_Project "Radigen" took over a year and two thousand prisoners have paid for this success with their lives, but the results are worth it. I am one hundred percent certain that this is the next step in the evolution of humankind. The essence of the subject cannot be detected using magic. Surprisingly, mutated kreylint is structurally identical to its normal counterpart._

_The next objective is to ensure the comfortable living conditions of the specimen. It must remain alive before the time comes!_

_ **Fragments from the diary of M. Steiner, doctor of the first echelon of Ahnenerbe** _

**01.09.1991. "Black Leontopodium"**

The month before the school passed unexpectedly quickly. The sheer amount of stuff to do drowned Michael. Not that he complained. At this moment he was desperately trying to squeeze all the potion ingredients into his suitcase. Even though it was expanded using a special spell, it still wasn't able to fit in all the things he wanted to take with him.

He didn't take any books with him; few that he actually bought (only not to get kicked out of the bookstore) were staying behind. He didn't need them: vast majority of the openly available literature was already copied into Sky's archive.

Adam Baker made some very transparent hints that he wouldn't mind the boy come over and work during the summer vacation. Good to have some options, even though Valter had some doubts that Potters would approve of him returning here.

Somewhere deep inside of him lived hope that they simply wouldn't care about his existence. Yeah, fat chance. Family, love – the parasites of mind. The blood-sworn enemies of rationality. On the other hand, if they want to help him with problems like food, shelter, and money, who is he to stop them?

Future first-year fixed some gaps in his knowledge of transfiguration and magical history. Sadly, his advancement in understanding magic was severely slowed down by the scarcity of new information. The Diagon Alley's bookshops have given him everything they could, there wasn't much more to catch in this stale pond.

Michael closed the suitcase and shook his head. Where did this feeling come from? Nostalgia? Nah, no way. He took his luggage and left the room. There was nothing more to do here.

Upstairs, in the living room, Bateman was waiting for him. She impatiently tapped on the side of the sofa, eyes fixed on the door.

"Finally! Oh, how much FUN we'll have!"

"On the contrary," – Michael flinched. – "Ahead of us is a year composed of routine learning."

"He is correct, Andrea," – Adam noted. – "Hogwarts is first and foremost a school."

"That's the point! Learning magic is hella fun!" – Andrea tossed an empty pen and caught it mid-air. – "The portal's gonna activate in five minutes. Ready?"

"Of course," – Michael lightly kicked his suitcase. – "Please, sir, could we avoid sentiments?" – he asked Baker coldly.

"Sure," – he nodded and opened the door. – "Good luck."

"Thanks, sir!" – Happily answered the girl. – "Mike, what's wrong with you?" – she hissed when the door closed.

"I have a bad feeling, Andry. The Hat…"

Ancient artefact, created by the founders, the Sorting Hat was prohibited from telling the students' secrets to anyone. Actually, it couldn't do so even if it desperately wanted to do so. It simply didn't have a place to store the things it saw in children's minds, and yet the little worm of doubt was squirming inside of him, opening the doors for insomnia to rein over him for another night.

"Chill, I'm going first anyway. Or…" – Bateman's cheeks turned slightly pink. She didn't resemble a serial killer a single bit. – "Are you worried about me?"

"Yes," – answered Michael. Indeed, such investment should be protected. He can order Sky to seal off some sections of his memory, Andrea – not so much. This could put them both in jeopardy. – "All thoughts are about you."

"Yes," – she took his hand. – "We are friends, right? FOREVER! Imagine, we'll get done with this box, become businessmen! Globalisation! Weapons, potions, slaves, drugs… Our company will grow and flourish!"

"Quiet!" – desperately cried Michael. – "Stop with the nonsense, k? Firstly, we need to survive until graduation, and with an attitude like yours…"

"Hey, I'm adequate!" – she looked offended. – "Not worse than "blissed" and "cardboards". At the very least I do not lie to myself!"

With titanic effort he strangled the laughter that almost escaped his lips, looking at the portal. It started to glow, indicating that their time was almost up.

"Wizards really like enchanting stupid things," – indifferently noted Michael. – "Prepare the luggage, we have less than a minute left."

Sadly, even his mental readiness didn't save him from an unpleasant feeling. In a flash of red light, they were transported to the planform nine and three-quarters.

"Faster, kids," – the elderly wizard said to them. – "You are not the only ones who use the portal, you know."

Michael quickly pulled Bateman by the elbow, freeing the marked circle. Just in time: the next group of people materialised almost immediately after they left.

Tens, hundreds of families were saying goodbye to their kids at the platform. Some were curiously looking at the scarlet train, some were crying, some were just calmly leaving and looking for their friends. Colourful flashes of cats' fur could be seen everywhere despite thick smoke.

"Disgusting," – Valter thought as he navigated the crowd of screaming idiots. This mess and annoying noise were forcing him to move as fast as he could. Good thing they didn't have to look for an empty compartment for too long. Bateman levitated their luggage inside while Valter closed door and curtains shut.

"I wonder if they sell coffee here," – Michael yawned. – "Or maybe I'm asking for too much."

"Be simpler," – Andrea lay down and closed her eyes. – "And let me sleep."

The door slid open, revealing a white-haired girl. They noted expensive (even by aristocrats' standards) robe and her expression that almost screamed: "I'm queen and you are dirt".

"Pardon my intrusion. May I come in?" – she politely asked in a condescending tone.

"No!"

"Of course."

Michael sighed.

"She is just kidding. Do come in."

"Thank you," – she shot an annoyed look at Bateman, sat next to him and gave her hand. – "Ester. Ester Crowley."

"Michael Valter. Crowley… The heiress of the Silver Star order?"

Ester smiled and put down her dragon skin suitcase.

"Yes, that is indeed me."

As they talked, Andrea radiated envy and anger. It was clear it took her an enormous effort to hold her temper in check. She knew that an outburst could cost too much.

"Hogwarts Express is leaving in ten minutes."

The train was quickly filled with kids, transporting the noise from the platform inside the carriage. Crowley pulled out her wand.

"Do you mind?" – she pointed at the door. – "_Colloprtus!_" – a quick flash indicated that the seal took its place at the door.

"Is it okay?" – asked Michael. – "We won't get in trouble for this?"

"I'd let them try," – coldly replied Ester. – "It's all right, I will be responsible if anyone asks."

Valter closed his eyes and thought about status. The muggle-born had a chance here. The Dark Minister did not seem to want to cull all the "mudbloods". After all, he was among the founders of the Order of Phoenix to fight back the terrorist group. The funniest thing is that the latter believed that the wolf in sheep's clothing is helping them. It the end, they were no better than the Order. Hundreds, thousands of artefacts and countless galleons disappeared with the dark lord. An unbelievably grandiose affair.

Most radicals died, others had to reconsider their opinions. Today, dismissive looks from the most ancient families were a rare thing. One could even earn a bit of respect by carefully studying the traditions of the magical world.

The conversation stopped. Michael decided to read about goblins, and the female part of their group didn't seem to mind.

**At the same time**

Harry was looking out of the window, trying to calm the buzzing thoughts. He managed to forgive his parents, but something was still scratching at his soul, even now. The sorting didn't seem half as interesting as meeting his brother.

Gryffindor? Slytherin? What does it matter? Harry wanted to judge everyone based on their actions, not the colour of their tie.

"That's right!" – loudly exclaimed Ron. – "I, for example, don't care where to throw dice."

"Have I said it out loud?" – Harry thought.

"Really? And your parents…"

"Are idiots," – said the red-head. – "I know, I shouldn't say that, but… Damn, take some Felix Felicis and go to casino, buy some gold, or real estate, or something. The biggest thing dad can do is enchant Ford. Genius, right? I don't want that I want more."

"You think it's that simple?" – Harry smiled. – "The Ministry."

"Is utterly corrupted," – Ron realised that maybe he had said too much and took a deck of cards. – "A game?"

**Two hours later**

"Astral, you say? Never heard before."

"Where do you find all your information? Wait, don't answer, let me guess: a public library of sorts?"

Michael nodded.

"Almost. I work with what I'm given."

"Hah," – Ester's lips were touched by a joyless smile. – "England is so behind the civilised countries. In Italy, for example…"

"Wait," – he knew it was rude but couldn't help himself. – "I know very little about the astral magic, but isn't it taught in the far east?"

"Nonsense. It has nothing in common with the secret arts."

"What can it do?"

"Well," – Crowley paused for a second, collecting her thoughts. – "Astral is an immaterial plane, it is considered to be home for many spirits. Don't confuse them with ghosts, spirits do not always have a proper personality."

"Okay, where do ghosts "live", then?" – he realised how stupid the question was when Ester looked at him with surprise in her eyes.

"Why, the material plane, of course. They stay here because they chose too, or because they are forced by a powerful curse."

"A curse?"

How? Isn't soul cleansed by reincarnation? Oh, well, he might be wrong. He did somehow keep Sky, after all.

"Yes. It should affect the aura or soul before one's death."

Andrea, listening to an unexpected lecture, impatiently licked her lips.

"With dark magic?"

"Indeed. The possibilities are endless when astral magic is the subject. Entering another plane of existence could allow you to capture and subjugate the entities living there. There are also advanced techniques that involve temporarily discarding the material form altogether."

"Doesn't that lead to death?"

"The risk is great, yes, but the possibilities are well worth it. Being able to see the world through the eyes of its inhabitants…"

"You are talking about possession, right?"

"Correct. However, you can only possess a primitive mind or someone who is linked to you. There is much more. Astral net, for example, allows dark wizards to capture the souls and use them as currency in bargains."

No wonder people didn't practice this art in Britain. The risks were colossal. Toying with aura and soul can lead to big trouble. Without a doubt, one needed great control to operate with such matters. Well… With Sky's aid, there is almost nothing impossible.

"Italian wizards have ba… Never mind."

"It's not that. Italian wizards know how to mitigate the problematic aspects of astral magic. By the way, I was born here, in Britain."

"so, what do you think about it?"- Michael asked out of curiosity.

"Hard to tell," – said Crowley. – "A game of chess? There is quite some time before we arrive."

"Nah, I'll pass."

"I will play against you," – unexpectedly said Bateman. – "I take the black pieces."

**Hogwarts, at the same time**

"Colleagues!" – Dumbledore clapped his hands. – "Students will arrive soon. We should prepare for the sorting."

Talking, teachers left the Great Hall. Only Filius Flitwick remained behind to discuss something with the headmaster. Walking down the hallway with his "colleagues", Riddle wanted to cast _Avada Kedavra_ on himself. Kids! There was more evil in them than in the darkest of nekr artefacts!

"My condolences, Quirinus. To teach all years, it must be very difficult for you."

"You do not seem all that supportive, Severus," – gloomily answered Voldemort, studying the unusually happy potions master. – "Does the thought that someone suffers more than you bring you joy?"

"Of course. Have a nice evening," – Snape said, not even trying to hide the sarcasm.

Tom took a turn and ventured into the ancient castle alone. He looked at the painting and let his fingers brush the armour. This place filled him with nostalgia. Castle beyond time, overflowing with magic. His first and only home.

He pushed the oak door and entered his apartment. Nothing too special, aside from the view from his window. The lake, caressed by moonlight, was truly fascinating.

"I must visit my soul fragment in the Chamber of Slytherin and develop some plan regarding the acquisition of the Philosopher's Stone.

Since he was one of the people in charge of creating the precautionary defences, Tom couldn't help but be blown away by how many highest-level curses and charms the old fart installed in the hallway. He even managed to somehow find Cerberus to guard the way to the Stone.

Riddle would need to spend all kreylints if he hoped to reach the stone and return alive. He was certain that he could do that, despite his weakened state. All thoseartefacts he stole during the last conflict were more than powerful, but Dumbledore should not be underestimated. It was foolish to begin with any sort of action before finding out more about the Stone's defences.

One more thing on Tom's mind was his ambitious project, the living horcrux. The old man had surely not noted such detail about his student. To kill his former pupil he would need to sacrifice his new one. How…

Ironic.

"This will be an interesting year."


End file.
